Between Heaven and Hell
by AbeSapien99
Summary: A mysterious artifact is stolen from a secure BPRD facility, and Hellboy is a prime suspect. The search for the real culprit reveals some startling discoveries closely tied to Hellboy's own past... and leads him right into a battle between Heaven and Hell
1. Prologue

Prologue

_U.S. Government Depot _Area 12_, Massachusetts_

_October 26, 1999_

"Frank, come on," the driver called out of his window, trying to get the gate man's attention. A few seconds passed and a panel slid open on the booth. "There you are. Can ya let me in now?"

"You know the procedure, Ted," replied Frank, who was looking down at something the driver couldn't see. He hesitated a few more seconds, apparently reading something, then turned his eyes up. "Background's clean, truck's clean. Now let's see if you really are who you say you are."

"Ah, jeeze…"

Frank pressed a button and a smaller panel opened below his viewing one. Out of it came a long silver arm, on the end of which was attached a boxlike device. It approached the driver's face and stopped, a smaller arm flipping up to press a rounded cup to his eye. The machine took his retinal scan and compacted back together into the hole it emerged from.

Ted blinked. "Well?" he asked, rubbing his eye.

"Mm-hm," mumbled Frank, his face illuminated from an unseen computer screen. "Looks good." He turned his face back to the driver and smiled. "Go on in, Ted."

"Yeah, thanks…" he muttered. Ted shifted the armored truck into gear and slowly started through the chain-link gate that was sliding away.

The depot was brightly lit in the cold and dark autumn night. Huge floodlights attached to the various warehouses and hangars surrounding the central yard left almost no shadows outside. It was comforting in some ways, yet also quite eerie.

But Ted was used to it. He was always shipping stuff for the Bureau, either to this depot or one of the other hidden ones around the country. Those were the ones he really didn't like going to, mainly for two reasons: one, they often only had a handful of personnel as compared to the several dozen employed here in the Massachusetts depot; and two, the stuff that was really important or dangerous went to those ones, so to Ted the threat level was a little higher – even with the fact that they were _hidden_ bases.

He pulled his truck up to a wide warehouse door and stopped. Two armed guards approached either side of his vehicle, one going around to inspect while the other climbed up to bring his face level to Ted's through the driver's window.

"Cargo?" he asked in a clipped and serious tone. No joking with these guys; the only one that remotely had a sense of humour was Frank, and even his was lacking at the best of times.

"Some statue thing," replied Ted, reaching over for his shipping list. He pressed a thumb to the print analysis pad on the small case and it popped open. Inside was the list. "Here ya go."

The guard took the offered paper. His eyes darted over it, and after almost a minute he handed it back. "Everything seems to be in order." He passed the list back and glanced to the rear of the truck. "Just wait for the inspection."

"Is it going to take long? I've got a date," said Ted jokingly. It was well past midnight; the Bureau always thought it best to make land shipments in the cover of night. Ted often wondered why that was, and all he could gather was that it made any incidents that may occur a lot easier to clean up. The higher-ups were so considerate…

Of course the guard didn't find the joke the least bit funny. He just stared dully at the driver for a few seconds then glanced away again. The other guard called out to him and he stepped down to the ground. He walked to the rear of the vehicle and disappeared behind it. Ted watched him leave through his side mirror, then just sat back and looked around the nice view of the warehouse wall and door he had in front of him.

At least until the lights went out. All at once the lamps and floodlights around the yard just shut off, plunging the depot into darkness. Only his truck's headlights shed any illumination, all of it pressed into a wide door a meter in front of them.

"Hey," Ted called out through his window, leaning out and looking to the rear of his truck. "Hey!"

Faintly he made out the guards walking towards him. The one he had spoken to moments before was talking into a hand-held radio. They both stopped beside his door and the second man addressed him. "Seems we've got a situation with our power," he said. "Standby until everything's clear."

"How long is that going to take?"

"Unknown. We can't get through to central comman–"

Rapid gunfire clattered from somewhere nearby. The staccato bursts of several guns could be heard but the location was impossible to determine. At least until a guard came running around one warehouse, firing back at something unseen. The only way they could see him was from the brief flashes of his shots.

The two guards outside of the truck pulled down their own weapons and rushed to aid the man. Ted watched them go then lunged for the shotgun under his seat. The Bureau was at least considerate enough to give him some type of weapon. He pulled it out, checked it was loaded and made sure the safety was on, then laid it across his lap.

He wasn't going to just wait around to be picked off in the dark by whatever was out there. The driver shifted his truck into reverse and pulled away from the warehouse. Ted turned towards the gunshots in the dark and let his headlights shine out on the attackers.

He wished he hadn't. The lights allowed him to watch as some large man – no, _creature_ – lunged at one of the guards and rammed him into the ground with bone-crushing force. The others kept shooting but the thing was too fast. It spread its wings, giant bat-like appendages, and darted into the air. The creature came down behind the two men, the ones who had rushed from Ted's truck, and smashed their heads together. The driver could see the gore spray from the impact and had to turn away.

When he looked back up he could see the thing was staring straight at him. He panicked and rammed the gas pedal to the floor. The truck wasn't built for speed, especially a quick start, but there was a good thirty meters between it and the creature, and, being an armoured vehicle, it had a reinforced front. As long as the creature didn't move – unlikely, but entirely possible – Ted would definitely win this confrontation.

Surprisingly, the thing held its ground. Rather than evading, either by simply dashing to the side or by using its leathery wings, it started walking _towards_ the approaching truck. The driver squeezed his steering wheel hard and kept his foot on the pedal, watching carefully for any sudden movements.

None came.

A few moments before the front of the truck would have struck the creature, a gap of only a couple feet between them, it stretched back its left arm and made to punch at the vehicle. Ted couldn't see exactly what it was, but there was something in – or _on_ – its hand that looked hard. Hard enough to do anything to a speeding armoured truck? No way – that creature was big, but not _that_ big.

Ted was soon proved wrong. The monster did indeed use its arm to punch the truck, smack dab in the center of the front grille. It was like hitting a rock wall. The fist of the creature rammed into the hood of the vehicle and crumpled the front around it. The impact threw Ted into his steering column – he had removed his seatbelt when he first got to the depot – and caused his face to smack the dashboard hard.

It took him a few seconds for the stars to clear from his eyes. He raised his head and felt his forehead, fresh blood on his hand as he brought it in front of his eyes. His chest hurt from pressing so hard into the steering wheel; surely it was bruised, probably even a couple broken ribs. Ted groaned and slid back in his seat.

By the time realization struck, mere moments after the crash, it was too late. He glanced out and saw the creature walking slowly towards the drivers' side. Clearly the thing was no person, but the way it moved was so eerily human. Ted scrambled to find his shotgun. It had slid off his lap and was caught under the dashboard by his feet. He tried to pull it free but as he moved his leg a sharp pain shot through it; he had broken or at least cracked something.

It didn't matter, though. The creature had made it to his door and reached up to it with that huge left hand. The fingers easily broke through the window, the _bullet-proof_ window, and clamped down on the door itself. With a quick tug the whole door tore free and was thrown to the ground.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, Ted pulled himself away from the door. But the thing outside reached in and seized his foot. He cried out, both in pain and fear, as the creature roughly yanked him from the cab of the truck.

The last thing the driver ever saw were those glowing red eyes, cold and emotionless, staring through the dark at him. He was entranced by them even as he fell from the seat of the cab like a rag doll in the monsters hand, and watched them even as he was swung like a club into the side of the truck.

Then all went black.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_500 miles Southeast of New Zealand_

_December 23, 1944_

The wind whipped about the air in a mad frenzy, huge gusts ripping and pushing at the rocking sea vessel. It was fierce and frigid and hurt like a thousand needles on the flesh. Ocean spray was caught in the drafts and swept across the hull and decking, soaking everything – whatever wasn't drenched already from the gigantic waves that battered the ship or the rain that poured from the sky.

Those waves were relentless, constantly rocking it side to side, up and down. More than once they threatened to tip the vessel, but luckily for the crew it remained upright. Still, the tipping had other ways of damaging it; precious cargo now bobbed in the swelling and sinking ocean currents and a few sailors had already fallen overboard. Only one had been rescued from the churning waters.

Captain Christian Davies had been in storms very similar to this in his long sailing career – which happened to span pretty much his entire life. He knew how to avoid them for the most part, or if caught in them he knew how to survive them. But now, as he stood among his frantic bridge crew, attempting to steer his vessel, the _Harbinger_, Christian realized this was no ordinary storm.

For one thing, there was no lightning or thunder. All that could be heard was the roar of the crashing waves and the hiss of the blowing winds. Never, not once, had the captain – or any of his crew, for that matter – witnessed a storm without the flashing arcs and cracking booms. It was certainly eerie, and in the dark night, without the brief flickers of light, it was impossible to see past the few meters of glow shed from the flood-lamps about the deck.

A storm with winds and rain but no lightning or thunder… Christian was not a man of folk tales or mythologies and often laughed at people that spoke of them. But sometimes, in times such as this, he wondered if such seemingly impossible things _could_ actually exist. In this instance, it happened to be what one of his crew had muttered. "The sea is not angry this night," the man had said. "No, it is in _pain_." To the captain, though it was still farfetched, that seemed to make sense: howling winds and pouring rain – the cry and tears of a wounded _ocean_?

"Captain," his first mate, an American named William, said urgently. He stood at a radio near the rear of the small bridge, a big microphone in one hand and an earpiece in the other. "I can't get through to either side." The 'sides' were the Australian military base they were headed to and the American port they had left.

Christian breathed out deeply. "Dammit!" he cursed as he spun the helm, throwing the ship headlong into a wave so as to avoid being tossed sideways; the bow slammed into it and a groan escaped from below decks. "Ye can't contac' th' Newzies?" He tried to lessen his accent when around his primarily-American crew, but in the heat of the moment he sloughed off the attempt.

The radioman sitting beside Will seemed to understand him, though, even through the noise of the storm. "Negative, sir. No response from anywhere. We're getting… some type of strange interference."

Captain Davies glanced over his shoulder. "'Strange?'" he asked.

"Yessir." Will listened into the earpiece again, adjusted some knobs and dials. "It's not something we'd normally get from a storm…"

A massive wave washed over the deck of the _Harbinger_ below, momentarily blocking the captain's view. The ship was only a cargo vessel, a metal-hulled boat just slightly smaller than the average military Destroyer. A wave that size wasn't too big, but it could have totaled the _Harbinger_ had it slammed full-bore into it; as it was only the crest arced over the edge of the deck. _Merely more wetness, no real damage,_ Christian assured himself.

Once the splash had passed and there was a moment of relatively calm waters as the ship fell into a shallow trough, the captain called his first mate over to take the wheel. The mate rushed over and Christian moved to the radio station. The technician handed him the earpiece.

"Wot the–" he muttered, adjusting the controls for himself. No matter what he tried the same sound came through: a pulsing, raspy sound, like a vacuum's end repeatedly being pushed firmly into a surface and then removed – underwater. It was no plain white noise. "Axis jamming?"

"Mm," William hummed, thinking on it briefly. "Could be. But… I dunno, call it a hunch." He pointed at the earpiece. "That definitely doesn't sound _normal_."

No, it didn't. Christian had encountered radio interference dozens of times at sea, especially during the war. Never had he heard such a strange and alien sound, though. No matter what station or channel he changed it to, it was all the same, constantly that pulsating low-pitched whine.

The captain frowned. "Wull, no matter," he said, handing the earpiece back to the technician. "We'd never git a message through this weatha'."

He turned to return to the wheel – and stopped when the lights in the cabin abruptly shut off. Not just the lights; the radio was dead, the radar was dead. And not just in the bridge; down below the bright flood-lamps had gone out and the faint reassuring hum of the engine was silent. The _Harbinger_ was plunged into darkness in a raging sea storm with no power and no engines.

Someone cursed, then it became eerily quiet. Only the winds and rain made any noise, and in the bridge those sounds were dim. The wind could hardly be heard, in fact, and the staccato drops of rain on the windows broke the utter silence. But not really in a good way; rather than reassure, the downpour put everyone more on edge.

Captain Davies felt the rest of his way to the wheel and took it from the first mate. He couldn't see anything – at all – but that didn't mean the danger wasn't still out there. There was a ship to steer and he'd be damned if the darkness was going to stop him.

Though the crew couldn't see it, a wave slammed directly into the bow of the ship and passed by on either side of the vessel. The ship bobbed up from the impact and fell hard into the water on the other side. The view in the bridge – if it could be called that at this point – went with the ship, moving up and then down over the wave.

But the pure black was broken by something in the water. There, perhaps two hundred meters ahead, was a strange blue glow under the surface. The churning and bubbling waters made it impossible to see the source of it, but the light seemed to be coming from only a few meters under the surface. And it was rising…

"What in the name of Hell…" one of the sailors said in awe. The light cast from the water was bright enough now to illuminate the ship somewhat, and Captain Davies could see the man leaning into the forward windows of the bridge. Down below all of the crew was emerging from wherever they had been weathering the storm, moving to get a better look at the strange light.

The storm itself seemed to have lessened now, too. The winds were not nearly as strong as they had been and the rain was no more than a faint dribble from the sky. As far as anyone could see in the dark the waves had even stopped; now the surface of the water was merely a sheet of shimmering tiny waves rather than gigantic ship-crushing ones.

Everyone jumped as the lights and equipment clicked back to life. They glanced around, all temporarily stunned, until Christian said, "Kill the lights."

When no one else moved to do it, the radio technician moved over to the control panel and cut off the power to the bridge lights and deck lamps. He still clutched the earpiece in his hand, and as he stepped from his seat the cable attaching it to the radio was pulled free. The strange interference hissed from the speakers, filling the entire bridge with its sound. But it was different now: the pulses seemed to be louder and were coming faster.

"Dear God," someone breathed. "What _is_ that thing?"

"Hitler's new weapon?" another suggested.

"Way out here? Not likely. It looks–"

The source of the light by then had almost broken the surface of the water, and the _Harbinger_ was only about one hundred meters away. With a burst of blue energy the water around it was pushed away in a perfect sphere and its glow intensified. That brief moment gave off a near-blinding flash, too, and the crew had to shield their eyes.

When the spots had cleared from mostly everyone's eyes, they could see a fiery blue orb floating just above the surface of the water. Some unseen force was displacing the water directly below it in the bottom curve of a sphere. Arcs of blue energy were circling it in a broken patchwork of a shell, breaking from the surface of the orb and being reabsorbed seconds later in another spot.

The orb itself was growing, too.

Captain Davies was the first to react. He dashed to the ship's intercom and grabbed the mouthpiece. "All crew t' arms!" he commanded into it.

The men in the bridge all turned their attention from the orb to him, then broke from their daze and did what they were told. From lockers and cabinets handguns and rifles were pulled. Down below on the deck the crewmen were rushing back to their cabins and holds to retrieve their assigned weapons.

Christian grabbed his weapon specialist's arm. "Johnny, git the rockets mounted on the rear-deck."

"Yessir!" the crewman said, nodding. He raced from the bridge to do his task.

The captain took a sidearm handed to him and returned to the ship's wheel. The _Harbinger_ had drifted to just over sixty meters from the orb now and he wasn't going to let it get any closer. He turned the wheel hard to port and gunned the powerful engines.

As if sensing that its one companion in the great ocean was leaving, the blue orb's arcs of energy started lancing out much further than they had before. With it now behind them, Christian saw one of those bolts sweep out just off to starboard. He and everyone else that saw it flinched but no harm came of it.

"It's attacking!" someone screamed.

Captain Davies gritted his teeth and tried to coax out a little more speed from his ship. The throttle was already to max, though, and there wouldn't be enough time to dump some of their cargo. It would come down to maneuvering and pure luck now.

Christian's luck was almost nonexistent this day.

The ship lurched as it was struck from behind and he fell into the wheel. A nearby crewman flew into the front window, his head cracking but not breaking the glass. The captain pulled himself off the steering column, ordered someone to take care of the injured sailor, then strode to the door leading outside. The bridge did not have rear windows, so he'd have to venture out of the cabin to see what damage they'd suffered.

He almost wished he hadn't.

The whole rounded stern had been shattered apart from the blow. Metal and wood debris was scattered on what remained of the deck behind the bridge tower and floated in the water around the ship. A few crewmen were scrambling to find a way back on to the vessel from the frigid waters while others were recovering from the attack and attempting to help. A gaping hole had been exploded in the hull and water was pouring in already. The worst part, though, was that the only propeller of the ship was missing. Which meant…

_We're dead in the water,_ Christian thought bleakly. Being several miles at least from any known land in the middle of a stormy night could be classified as bad circumstances already, but with a strange and violent ball of pure energy lashing out at them the outcome looked very grim for the sailors.

They weren't completely out of options, though. Breaking from his thoughts, Captain Davies began issuing out orders to his crew. The wind and rain had started to pick up again and he had to yell over the din. He called for most of his men to launch the few lifeboats they had aboard and abandon ship. The rest he told to get the small rocket launchers they had kept stowed below decks in case of any Axis attack at sea and mounted them on what remained of the sinking stern.

Already Johnny had one of the rectangular launchers attached to the rim surrounding the deck and was aiming it towards the fiery orb. The hole in the hull had already allowed enough water in to cause the vessel to slant backwards at an angle. The man had an awkward footing on the slippery wooden deck but his grip on the launcher kept him in place.

Christian descended the stairs from the tower and carefully made his way down to the sailor. He patted the man on the shoulder. "Take careful aim," he said loudly. "Blas' that bloighter outta th' air!"

Johnny nodded over his shoulder, an intense expression on his face. He bent towards the rocket launcher and used the sight to line it up with the target…

The captain saw it, barely, from over his first mate's shoulder before it hit. The long arc of blue energy swung around from the opposite side of the orb and flew straight towards them. Christian tried to grab his crewman and pull him out of its way but his foot slipped and he fell back. The destructive blow missed him and struck Johnny right in the back. He bent backwards and cried out in agony as he simply disintegrated instantly out from the point of impact. His yell turned into an unearthly screech as his lungs and throat disappeared and the energy consumed him.

Christian watched in horror from his spot on the deck. He rolled onto his front and grabbed a length of rope, pulling himself back towards the bridge tower. The crew was launching the life rafts from the bow and he hoped to get into one before it was too late.

He was one captain that didn't want to go down with his ship.

And with that orb steadily growing larger and more violent behind the vessel, who would blame him?

Fortunately one raft was still close enough for him to climb into. He waited for one last crewman to shimmy down the rope hanging from the hull before him, glancing back at the fireball every few seconds. By now it had grown to be a good three meters in diameter and its limbs – which were also constantly growing longer and more abundant – stretched out between a few to roughly a hundred meters from the orb. When it was finally his turn he hopped over the edge of the deck and nearly slid down the slick rope.

"You all right, Captain?" Will asked, handing him a life preserver.

Christian was a bit shocked and hugely relieved to see his first mate. He blinked it away and took the vest. "Yes," he said distractedly. "Yes, I am." He sat down in the raft as one crewman pushed off from the _Harbinger_ and two others started rowing.

He couldn't look away from his ship. It wasn't that particular vessel that he had become so attached to; in fact, he had only been commanding the _Harbinger_ for a few short years since the beginning of the war. No, it was that it was _sinking_. Tilted on a forty-five degree angle, almost all of its rear half hidden below the waves, its deck lights still working under and above the water and giving it an eerie glow. Captain Davies had never had to abandon ship before, and the feeling of loss and despair was already settling in. All he could do was stare.

That was until something else caught his eye. In his peripheral vision he noticed the orb hanging in the air had somehow changed. He glanced at it and saw that the arcs flying around it had come together into several neat rings that spun around the orb at different angles. And the fireball itself was shrinking, closing in on itself. But there was something… something in the center. He could see it faintly, a silhouette in the fiery energy that didn't seem to belong…

Christian strained his weathered sea-eyes towards the mysterious sphere until a blinding flare momentarily blinded him. The bright light expanded out from the orb in a sudden burst and a crack and boom like thunder quickly followed. The shockwave from it pushed the men in the raft off their seats and formed a single large circular ripple in the water. The lifeboat rocked on this wave as the men wiped their eyes and tried to get their sight back.

The captain blinked away most of the spots quickly but his vision was still mostly obscured. He darted his eyes back and forth in the general direction of where the orb had been, and from the corner of his sight he noticed it was gone. No more shimmering, fiery ball, no more long whipping arms of energy.

_There!_ He saw it only for a split second, a mere fraction of a moment, but the image was burned in his memory in vivid detail. It was the silhouette he had seen wreathed in the orb, now free of the flames and falling towards the waters. Christian couldn't be certain, but he had a high bet that that being, the limp form that was free falling gracefully towards the choppy surface of the ocean, was a _child_. The light was dim, whatever there was of it coming off of the few lights on the disappearing wreck of his ship that still worked, his eyes were temporarily burnt, and he was under a lot of stress, but he _knew_ his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Somehow he knew.

The crewmen had regained some of their vision now, too, and were resuming their rowing away from the sinking _Harbinger_ and the spot in the air where the sphere had been. Captain Davies commanded them to stop and turn the raft around.

"Go _back_?" William asked incredulously. He and several of the sailors were gawking at their captain with a mix of shock and, if he wasn't mistaken, mutiny.

"Yes, g' back!" Christian ordered, pointing to where he'd seen what he was almost positive was a child fall into the waters. "There's a damn kid ou' there!"

The crewmen exchanged glances and Captain Davies knew they weren't going to listen. He looked at all of them in turn, his nostrils flaring at the insubordination. They may have lost their ship but he was still captain! "Fine," he said flatly. He removed his hat and jacket, dropped them to the bottom of the boat, and dove into the water.

Christian wasn't all that fit. He was a forty-six year old man, had a little bit of a belly, and hadn't run or swam in years. But his body didn't care now. He had lost his ship, several of his crew members, and it looked grim for the survivors; lost at sea, dozens, if not hundreds, of miles from any land, and with very few supplies. So what did it matter, really, if he died right now because of over-taxing himself in the ocean currents? If he was going to die at sea before his time, he would do it with his curiosity fulfilled. Which meant he was going to find out just what that _thing_ was that had fallen from the orb.

The water was tough to get through. It was roughly just over a hundred meters from the raft to his destination, and the swelling and sinking of the ocean made it hard to keep going straight. William was calling at him from the lifeboat but his cries faded in and out amongst the wind and waves. Christian wasn't going to stop just because his crewmen wanted him to, either.

The swells of the sea were growing larger now. No crashing whitecaps, just gentle rising and lowering of the ocean surface. One particularly huge crest brought Captain Davies up higher than he had yet, and from that vantage point could see to where he wanted to go clearly. He had passed the _Harbinger_ – now nothing more than the top corner of the bridge tower over the surface – and the residual light from it just barely illuminated his surroundings. But it was enough to catch a glimpse of the small form bobbing in the water.

_I'm comin'_, Christian thought determinedly. He quickened his pace, using whatever techniques he could recall from swimming lessons learned ages ago. The water was icy and painful, and the cold of it tried to knock the air out of his lungs. His arms and legs ached already. His heart raced with the effort of it all but fortunately didn't give out. He was almost there, just another ten meters or so…

A freak whitecap came up behind Christian and pulled him up into it. The wave swept him towards the thing in the water and as he neared it he reached out to try and grab it. His hands clasped onto something rather large, tightened around it in a death grip. The captain wasn't going to let some wave prevent him from satisfying his curiosity, maybe his last indulgence in this lifetime.

The current sucked him and his prize – whether it was the creature he had seen fall from the orb or some other mysterious object, he did not know – under the water and flipped them end-over-end. The last breath Christian had sucked in was short and partially filled with salty brine, and already his lungs were aching from the lack of air. He tucked the cylindrical thing in his hands under one arm and tried desperately to make for the surface with his free limbs.

At last he made it, breaking the face of the water and gasping for fresh oxygen. He took a few seconds rest and looked around, searching for any of the _Harbinger_'s surviving life rafts. The rising and sinking waters made it impossible to see very far and he was easily disoriented. Off a ways he thought he could see the glow of his sinking ship's lights, moving up and down with the waves.

But if it was sinking, then how was it bobbing in the waves…?

Realization struck and Christian started waving wildly with his free arm. Without the aid of his arm his treading was pretty much ineffective and he immediately began to fall under the surface. Balancing between the two actions, the captain continuously switched from waving to treading water, yelling out the entire time.

It was less than a minute by the time the lifeboat reached him. Will shut off the spotlight on its helm and with the help of another sailor pulled Christian and his treasure aboard. The captain fell to the raft's curved bottom, still breathing heavily. The sailors just stared at him.

No, not at _him_… He looked down to the thing cradled in his arms and couldn't help his mouth from falling open.

"My God…" he breathed.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Outside of Roswell, New Mexico_

_October 26, 1999_

John Evans had been with the United States military for almost fourteen years now. He had seen some combat in the early '90s, but since had tried his damnedest to stay away from the line of fire. So he had moved back to the old family hometown of Roswell and joined the military detachment there. Hell, he'd even met a girl he used to go to school with and the two of them eventually got married. He was living what most people would call the American dream: a wife, a family, nice home, good job…

Well, the job was usually good. Being stationed at an Air Force base had its ups and downs; being stationed in New Mexico was more often than not on the 'up' side. But, after all, it was the _military_, so when the call came for him he had to respond.

And that's what this was all about now. They hadn't had much of a briefing back at the base; just something about 'potentially dangerous target,' deemed an 'extreme threat.' There were soldiers whose eyes lit up at the sound of that – mostly the young ones – and then the others, the ones who had experience in combat of some sort and wished never to return to it. John fell somewhere in the middle; he didn't quite relish the idea of facing this "extreme" threat, whatever it was, but he had to admit he was getting bored of the same old nothing everyday. Part of him wanted a bit of action.

So, with fifty other U.S. soldiers, he was part of a blockade set up at the gate of an old and abandoned air base only a few miles from his own station. It was almost the opposite side of Roswell from the current military base, tucked away in a canyon. There was only one way to enter the area – other than climbing over the surrounding plateaus and hills – and that way led from the city to the gate. A high and reinforced chain-link fence surrounded the whole base, too, with the only opening being the one the soldiers were currently stationed at. Inside, maybe a hundred meters from them, was the mixed bunch of hangars, barracks, and Quonsets that made up the remains of the long abandoned military base.

Army trucks with canvas-covered backs helped block off the gate. The soldiers had opened the sliding sides of the entry in the fence and had erected a few barricades between the vehicles. The men took positions crouched behind these, rifles in hand and aimed in the direction of the buildings. John Evans was one of them, located almost right beside the commanding officer of this mission, General Bruce Williams.

The general, in his formal green suit and cap, the front of his jacket adorned with various pieces of metal in various colours, was engaged in a quiet conversation with the lieutenant in charge of Evans' platoon. Another soldier stood nearby with a portable satellite phone, looking as though he was expecting a call any moment.

John thought he heard the general mutter, "Where the hell are they?" He had no idea who 'they' were, though several theories – some quite possible and others purely ridiculous – popped into his head. _FBI. Men in Black…_Having been exposed to a number of television shows and movies, it wasn't much of a wonder how those thoughts got in there.

"There they are," the lieutenant said loudly enough for him to hear. John glanced over his shoulder and saw a pair of black Hummers speeding down the dirt road from Roswell. Dust trailed from behind them; if it weren't for that sign, the shimmering heat of this scorching day would have obscured the vehicles until they were almost upon the soldiers.

Moments later they came to a fast stop just outside the blockade. The two vehicles turned so that their passenger sides were facing the abandoned base, one in front of the other. From the first Hummer emerged a woman, pale skin and fiery red hair, and a man with a long beard dressed in a dark coat and hat, sunglasses over his eyes. Not an overly unusual pair, though they didn't quite look like soldiers or even Government officials of any sort.

But what came out of the other Hummer was definitely unusual. Bigger than any man he had ever seen, both in height and general shape, his skin a vibrant red the colour of dried blood, the figure ducked his head and stepped out of the vehicle. It wasn't just his size and colour that were weird; his feet were hoofed and on his high forehead, above a hard, chiseled and emotionless face, there stuck out two rough, circular protrusions that looked like red bone. There was even, John glimpsed, what appeared to be a tail. And the right hand of the man – the _thing_… it was _huge_. Easily at least five times larger than his other hand, the right one – which looked to be made of a type of stone – stuck out of the sleeve of his brown trench-coat and hung down at his side.

The general, John noticed, seemed as awed by the three figures that had appeared out of the vehicles as John himself was. He hesitated, then cleared his throat and moved towards the trio, all of which now stood side by side and were taking in the surroundings, the lieutenant at his side.

General Williams briskly saluted the newcomers. The woman and the red-skinned… man… returned the salute, the latter using his giant hand as anyone would use their regular one. The third, the other man in the coat and hat, seemed to ignore the general as he peered at the desert surroundings.

"Welcome to Roswell," said General Williams. His tone was serious, all business, though if one listened closely they could pick up the small waver in there. "I take it you are the… _agents_… that were called in?"

"The very same," the red-skinned man said. His voice was gruff and sounded almost like he had a really bad sore throat. He glanced around and sniffed. "This place sure is dry. You gonna be okay, Abe?"

The other man had slipped out of his coat and was now removing his hat and sunglasses… and beard. John was even more weirded out by this guy than Big Red. He looked mostly human but his skin was a blueish-green, and along either side of his neck was a set of… gills? There were several dark, jagged streaks atop his head, and just below those were his wide and glassy eyes. As he spread his fingers to pull closed the arms of his glasses, John could see webbing between his digits and even small fins along his forearms. The same type of fin was along his lower leg, too, and even his bare toes were webbed. There were no other strange appendages that could be seen, though the vest and shorts he wore could have covered something.

"I should be all right," the fish-man said in a calm and dignified voice. He carefully placed the glasses, hat, and beard on top of his folded coat inside the hummer door. "Though, I will probably need a tank if we're going to be here long."

The red guy waved his normal left hand dismissively. "Nah, shouldn't take long. Eh, Liz?"

With her arms crossed in front of her chest, the woman standing between the two strange men shrugged. "You're the expert, HB," she said.

"Not on aliens…"

John thought he saw the red guy – 'HB' – glance toward his fishy companion, his gaze mimicked by Liz. Apparently this Abe fellow caught the looks, too.

"Oh come now," he said hotly. "_I'm_ not an alien."

"'Course not," said HB. He stepped forward to grab the clipboard in the lieutenant's hand. The man just stood, mouth slightly agape, and didn't even move as it was taken from him. The red guy eyed him for a moment, then looked down at the papers. "So what've we got here…?"

"Surveillance reports we've got an unidentifiable being inside the compound," General Williams said, turning slightly to face the old military base. "We haven't gotten a visual yet, but infrared scans have picked up some heat signatures. Something's alive in there."

"Could be a lizard or something," muttered the red man, his eyes still on the papers. He flipped them with his left hand, holding the clipboard with his huge right one.

"Despite the fact that reptiles are cold-blooded…" Abe said quietly.

HB glared sideways at him. Even from this angle, not even under the scrutiny of that expression, John Evans almost cowered at the sight of it. The fish-man didn't even flinch. "I said '_or something_,'" Big Red growled.

The general glanced between the three newcomers and frowned slightly. "I don't mean to be rude, gentlemen and lady," he said hesitantly. "But I was informed we would be assisted by a professional team here…"

HB slid the clipboard back into the lieutenant's hands and stepped past him and the general to look at the inside of the base. He sniffed the air once and placed his hands on his hips. After several seconds he turned his head to look over his shoulder at General Williams.

"I guess they didn't send out our names when they told you we were coming," he said. "Or else our appearances aren't all that popular 'round here." He sneered, a particularly nasty expression on his chiseled features.

"But trust me, General, we're as close to professionals as this job can get."

Hellboy stepped up to the main entrance of what looked to have been an old office building. Probably was just that back in the 1950's, but now it was nothing more than a dilapidated shell. Windows were shattered or simply missing, parts of the siding had broken away, and a layer of crusty dirt coated the building. In fact, he saw as he glanced around, all of the structures in the compound were in a similar state of damage and disrepair.

"Sure has seen better days," Liz Sherman said, coming to stand beside him. She peered up and around the front of the two-storey building.

"Yeah," replied Hellboy. He took another look at the hangars only a few hundred meters to the south. "Reminds me of home."

Liz looked sideways at him. "'Home?'"

"The old air force base I grew up at…" That place where he had been brought to right after he was discovered in 1944 had looked very similar to where they were now. It had been the original BPRD headquarters, at least in the very early years, and had actually been somewhere in New Mexico. There he had been kept hidden from prying eyes until he'd grown old enough to actually join the Bureau – a mighty ten or so years. "I gotta call something home, don't I?"

"I guess," said Liz with a shrug. She stepped closer to the door into the building and peered in. "I wonder why they abandoned it…"

Hellboy felt his pockets and found a cigar, which he lifted to his mouth. "I dunno," he said around it. "I think Abe said something about the official excuse being it was 'obsolete.'" Now he was searching for a match or lighter, neither of which he could find. "But I think the real reason is in here waiting for us somewhere."

"Oh boy…" Liz muttered sarcastically. She left the doorway and started past Hellboy.

"Hey, do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the cigar in his lips.

"You shouldn't smoke, you know."

Hellboy stared at her for a few seconds and pulled the cigar from his mouth. "_You're_ telling me that? What about you?"

"I quit."

"You quit?"

"Yeah. Decided to try it. And so far I've actually been able to do it."

He raised his brow as high as he could, which wasn't much with his horn stumps in the way. "Well congratulations. Glad to see you quitting something you ought'a quit this time."

Liz rolled her eyes and continued walking away. She raised an arm backwards at him as she moved and raised that one offensive finger on her hand. A shroud of flame burst around it and Hellboy dove his face, cigar back in his mouth, towards it.

"Thanks," he said after taking a deep puff. He thought he heard her curse him quietly but ignored it; she'd get over it soon enough. For now, though, it would be best to avoid her for at least a few minutes.

Hellboy strode after Liz and met Abe standing in the middle of the yard in between the gate and the main complex. Three massive hangars stood beside that large building; the office structure he and Liz had just scouted out was behind him, to the left of the gate. It was towards the hangars that Abe was facing, some strange device attached to a small monitor in his hands. It was giving off a constant warbling sound that reminded Hellboy of the creepy interference that lots of old alien movies had at some point or another in them.

Hellboy peered over Abe's shoulder – and the hydration device attached to his neck as well as a thin bodysuit that he had opted to wear – at the screen. "Gettin' anything?" he asked.

"No," replied Abe. He was staring intently at what appeared to be just a jumble of colours and shapes. "Either this thing is broken or else whatever is in there can cloak its body heat."

"Great… Any ideas?"

"Well, we could either go in and search the place ourselves or else call in a tactical strike and level the place."

"Nah, that's no fun. Let's go for door number one."

Abe shrugged. "Your call. Shall we make use of the soldiers or take our sweet time with just the three of us?"

"Hm, I doubt any of them are qualified enough for whatever could be in there."

"And we are?"

Hellboy blinked. "Well _I_ am. Can't speak for you."

"Then how about Liz?"

He glanced towards her, standing a couple dozen meters away and staring at one of the hangars. "She could prob'ly handle it, too. Although…"

Abe looked from Hellboy to Liz and back. "After that comment you just made I wouldn't try to tell her to stay outside while we go in."

"You heard that? And besides, who says _you're_ going in with me?"

"I do," Abe said, turning to face him. "I know how un-thorough your searches can be, and this is one where we can't miss what we're looking for."

Hellboy stared at him and puffed his cigar. "Touché," he said after several seconds. Then he looked at Liz again. "Dammit, I wish she hadn't come."

"She's an agent, Red. You can't prevent her from taking missions."

"I could try…"

"That you could." Abe sighed. "Well are you going to tell her off or are we all going in?"

"Think she'd buy an excuse like having her protect the army men if something goes wrong?"

"She's not stupid. But then again…" Abe shrugged. "She might accept it."

"Good enough." Hellboy patted Abe on the shoulder and walked towards Liz.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps. "Well are we going to get this done or not?" she asked. Her voice quavered ever so slightly, but Hellboy caught it. "This alien stuff gives me the creeps."

Hellboy stuck his tongue into his cheek, thinking for a moment. Perhaps he could avoid upsetting her any more by using that… "You don't have to go in if you don't want to," he offered. "Me and Abe can handle whatever's in there."

"What? No, I'm okay. I just don't want to be here any longer than we need to."

He glanced at the gate and the soldiers still lined up behind their barricade a few hundred meters away. "Well I was kinda hoping you'd want to stay out." His gaze shifted back to her. "Just in case whatever's in there gets… out of hand. You can stop it before it gets to them." He tossed a thumb towards the gates.

The expression on her face was one he had seen dozens of times before. It was anger mixed with boredom mixed with disappointment. He knew it would show up even before he'd approached her – it always did. Elizabeth Sherman wasn't the type to stand down from danger, especially just because someone wanted her to. That, he brooded, was probably why he always had these fights with her.

Although this time she surprised him. Liz shook her head and the expression vanished. "Whatever," she said simply. "I really don't wanna go in there." Her eyes met his. "You're lucky this time."

Hellboy smiled weakly. "Guess I'm still that transparent, eh?" he asked bashfully. He was glad in moments like these his skin was already red. "So no problems, you'll stay out here?"

"No objections here." She held up her hands, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender.

"Great." He looked over at the barricade again. "Well, have fun with the boy scouts."

Liz snorted. "Yeah, fun…" She glanced at the hangar. "Have fun with the alien."

Hellboy tried a grin. "Hey, how bad could it be? It's probably like you or me, just from another planet."

She looked him up and down. "For all our sakes, let's hope it's _not_ like either of us."

"Yeah, good call." He took one last drag on his cigar and tossed it on the ground. "Only one way to find out," he said through a breath of smoke. "See ya in a bit."

"Makes you wonder why they abandoned this place…" Abe mused, glancing around the near-empty room. He wore big night-vision goggles to allow him to see the interior of the building through the darkness caused by an almost complete lack of any windows or overhead lights.

Hellboy, on the other hand, had opted for a plain old flashlight. "Not really," he mumbled, dragging the spot of light around the walls and counters.

The room they were in now appeared to have been a laboratory or operating hall of some kind. Small square tiles covered the walls and along the sides were waist-high counters. Shelves and glass doors filled these, and more were up on the walls above them. There was nothing on the shelves, not a single thing. The manner of which the cabinet doors were left open, however, spoke volumes.

"At least we know they left in a rush," noted Hellboy, shining his light over a stretch of the counter.

"Hmm, interesting…" Abe seemed to have ignored Hellboy, but was at least courteous enough not to interrupt. He cocked his head while staring at something in one of the counter shelves and moved towards it.

HB shot his light over to the spot and Abe abruptly stopped to face him, his expression ever-neutral yet still managing to convey his annoyance. "Sorry," Hellboy muttered, turning the flashlight away.

Without a word the amphibian-man continued forward and shifted into a crouch. He gracefully stepped right up to the cabinet and carefully swung it open fully, then reached in and searched briefly with his hand.

"What is it, Blue?"

"I'm not sure. Feels like… Feels _squishy_."

"And you're _touching_ it?"

One arm still in the cabinet, Abe pulled his goggles off of his big dark eyes and reached a hand out for Hellboy's flashlight. HB gave it and Abe used it to peer into the very back of the shelf. "Ah-ha," he said, his voice muffled as it went in and back out of the cabinet.

"A pack of old Twinkies?" Hellboy asked. His tone was dry but there was no mistaking that hint of hope and excitement.

"No, even better." His tone never seemed to change; it was as if he heard but didn't really listen to what people said sometimes. Abe tugged on whatever it was he'd found and brought it out for them both to look at. He held it in one hand and directed the flashlight at it with the other. "A clue."

"Oh…"

The thing definitely looked squishy. It was shaped similar to an egg, but instead of a white shell it was made of what appeared to be a semi-transparent greenish skin. As Abe gave it a little test squeeze fluids on the inside shifted under the pressure. The core didn't change shape, though, and was darker and denser than the rest of the pod.

Hellboy and Abe eyed the thing and then exchanged a glance. "I'll give ya five bucks to eat it," Hellboy offered.

Abe blinked, and then said, "I'll give _you_ ten."

"No, I'm not stupid."

He sighed. "The discussion of intelligence aside, what do you think this looks like?"

HB considered it for a moment. "A cabbage-roll past it's prime."

"Perhaps. What else?"

Hellboy shrugged. "An egg? What is this, Twenty Questions?"

"No, and yes – an egg… But of _what_ is the question… And why is it here, all alone?"

"I dunno, but there's only one way to find out," Hellboy said. He stuck out a hand for the flashlight. "Pop that thing in a container and let's keep looking, Brother Blue."

HB led the way out of the room and into the hallway. It was long and dark, stretching around a bend to their right and ending in a pair of wide doors to their left. A hint of light was coming from around the corner to the right; that was the way they had come in and so far they'd checked all the rooms along the hall up to this one. They continued to the left.

It was practically silent in the building, save their footsteps – the clack of Hellboy's cloven hooves and the soft clump of Abe's boots – and the low hum from Abe's water tanks. Without the various machines and equipment that kept structures like this with clean air and moderate temperatures, there was nothing to give a background noise. The quiet was good in that it helped them pick out any sound whatsoever that was loud enough to hear, but it made the place feel really eerie.

"Does this place creep you out at all?" Hellboy asked.

"No. How about you?" Abe still had his goggles atop his head and was busy placing the squishy sac into a plastic container.

"Me? Nah. I've been in worse places."

"So have I, Red."

"Oh yeah, guess so…"

The silence was pressing. So was the heat; while the interior here was quite dark and well hidden from the sun, the hot air coming in from the surrounding desert still affected it. Hellboy supposed he was grateful it wasn't cold, but he hated the heat like this. It wasn't stifling in here, merely uncomfortable.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Wish the AC still worked."

"I'm quite comfortable," said Abe. He had what they assumed was an egg sealed and tucked away into a pouch on his belt.

Hellboy glanced over his shoulder. "Well look at what you're wearing."

His amphibian friend looked him up and down. "Look at what _you're_ wearing. That coat is probably good for the dust but it's got to be hot in there."

"I didn't say I was hot, I just said–" He stopped suddenly, both with his mouth and feet.

Abe nearly bumped into him. "Trouble?" he whispered.

"Shhh," HB hissed, holding up a finger of his stone hand. He kept it up and started creeping forward along the wall. Abe followed close behind, one hand reaching for the pistol at his side. Hellboy shut off his flashlight and the two of them slinked along as quietly as they could, backs pressed against the wall, towards the two doors at the end of the corridor. They were only a few meters away.

Then Abe heard what must have caught Hellboy's attention. It was a gurgling watery sound followed by a sickening plop. The air fell silent again for a few seconds, and then the sound repeated itself. It seemed as though it was coming from just on the other side of the swinging doors.

They reached the end and Hellboy peered into the window of the closest door. It was pitch black in there, too, and without his light even his super-human sight couldn't pierce it. He fumbled around on his belt for something, couldn't find it, so reached back and tugged off Abe's goggles. The strap on them was tight but stretchy and he managed – barely – to pull them on over the stumps of his horns. He flicked the switch on the side and again looked in the room beyond.

Abe so desperately wanted to see what was there, too. But he also knew that trying to ask Hellboy to switch places would be futile and that going to the other window would be even more-so without his goggles. He waited as patiently as he could, one hand ready on his sidearm.

Hellboy, on the other hand, had a good view of the source of the weird and disturbing sound. There, moving around the inside of another larger lab, was a bizarre-looking quadruped. He had read about hundreds of animals, studied dozens of mythological creatures, and had beaten the crap out of even more, yet still this thing didn't look at all familiar. Its limbs were long and narrow but wiry and strong looking nonetheless. The body of the creature was also long and thin and resembled that of a Greyhound, though those spidery legs stuck out more to the side and made it appear like an insect when it moved. The head was probably the most unusual part; it resembled a praying mantis but with much smaller eyes, no visible fangs, and stubby antennae. Its skin was also a greenish colour in some spots and purple in others; the whole thing seemed fleshy, which was peculiar on such an insect-like creature.

The monstrosity itself wasn't particularly disturbing, especially to Hellboy – he'd seen and fought worse. It was what the thing was doing that made him cringe, out of revulsion rather than fear. Every few feet the creature would stop and bend its triple-jointed legs to lower its back end closer to the floor. Then its abdomen would convulse and shift, and from the rear of the thing would come one of the pods that Abe had found. After each one it would raise itself up, move over to a new spot, and repeat the process.

HB, his eyes narrowed in disgust underneath the goggles, dropped from the window and turned to his partner. Abe couldn't help but find the humour in Hellboy's appearance; the wide night-vision glasses were as round as the horn stumps directly above them and he looked quite ridiculous. It wasn't like him to laugh, especially in the current circumstances, and he didn't dare make any comments. For the sake of the situation he also tried to hide his smirk.

Hellboy seemed to notice but didn't say anything on it. Instead, he asked in a whisper, "What exactly were we supposed to do?"

"Find and eliminate or capture whatever's in here," Abe replied just as quietly. "Why?"

He got his answer as soon as Hellboy handed him the flashlight and pulled the huge revolver out of its holster on his belt. "That thing sickens me, and frankly I don't wanna get too close." He pointed his wide chin to the other wall of the hallway. "I'll take that side, you cover me."

"You think this'll work?"

"When has it failed?" As gracefully and quietly as he could Hellboy slid over to the opposite wall and put his back to it.

It was dark but Abe still stared directly at him. "Do you really want me tell you?"

"Yeah, never mind." Hellboy gave his door a slight push with his big right hand and saw it still could open somewhat. Thankfully it didn't creak, either.

"On three." HB looked across at Abe. He nodded once and said, "Three."

Hellboy sprang from his crouch and with that stone hand he threw the door open and held it there. He stepped inside, leveled the barrel of his pistol right at the creature. It stopped its sick process and twisted its bizarre face towards him, drool or some other thick fluid dripping from its mouth.

"This one's for you, E.T.," Hellboy muttered. He squeezed the trigger and a single shot blasted out of his gun like a mini-cannon. The huge bullet slammed into the side of the monstrosity, exploded its abdomen in a spray of multi-coloured gore. What remained of it flew backwards a few feet from the blast and slid in its own fluids.

"Nice shot," Abe commented. He moved in from the hallway to stand beside his partner and stare at the gooey corpse, his pistol held ready in both hands.

"Thanks. I'm actually surprised I hit it." HB raised his revolver and rested it on his shoulder. "Guess today's a good day."

"So far. We don't know if that was it…"

"Oh come on. Look." A stone finger pointed at the creature lying still on the floor. "Tell me that thing's not weird."

"I didn't say it's not weird," said Abe. He gestured at it with one hand. "I meant only that we don't know if that's all there is. It was laying what we presume are eggs and–"

Abe stopped and stepped back as a thin green arm snapped around Hellboy's throat. HB yelled in surprise and started falling back as whatever it was latched to his neck weighed him down. He groped as far back over his shoulder as he could with his right hand but the thing evaded his grip. His futile attempts continued for several more seconds until he roared, "Screw this!" and bent, reached back with both hands, and brought the creature over his head. A big red knee shot up and met it in front of his chest, bent the thing with a snap, and he tossed it away like nothing. Its body crashed into a row of glass-windowed cabinets and shattered the panes.

The flashlight snapped to life and Abe dragged it along the rear wall of the room to where Hellboy had thrown the thing. The spotlight landed on the corpse, unmoving, only a few feet from what remained of the first creature. Both were nearly identical in every way. Somehow Abe thought these weren't the only ones here…

A clunk to his left instantly supported his idea. He spun towards the sound, the light in his left hand and his pistol in the right, both held together in front of him. A third monstrosity reared back and looked into the light. It cocked its head and just stared for a moment, completely still and silent. Abe was waiting for it to make the first move, but his impatience got the better of him and he unloaded three fast shots directly into the head of the thing. It squealed and fell, twitching in a growing pool of its own vital fluids on the floor.

"Jesus," Abe muttered. "I thought they said there was only one heat signature in here!"

Hellboy opened his mouth to say something when yet another of the aliens leapt at him from the shadows. It clung to the shirt and coat covering his chest, using the four long digits of each limb to get a good grip. HB got a good look at its mouth through the night-vision goggles and saw that, while there were no fangs, there were three rows of very sharp teeth on the top and bottom of its jaws. It squawked in his face, a foul-smelling burst of air and sound, and thrust its razor teeth at him. He threw back his head, avoided the bite by mere inches. He reached his big right hand to the top of its head and his left on its lower jaw, grabbed them as tightly as he could, and tore apart. The grip on his clothes immediately loosened and he pitched the corpse of this one towards the others he'd already killed.

"Dammit!" he yelled. "Where the hell do they keep coming from?"

He shot his gaze about the room and quickly found his answer. Set into the wall to the right of the doors he and Abe had come through was another doorway. It seemed to be the only entrance other than the one they had used. He checked to make sure Abe was okay, saw there was no more of the aliens in here, and ran for the second door. His partner was close behind.

Hellboy body-slammed the swinging doors open, grateful they swung in both directions and didn't make him look like an idiot, and charged into the adjacent hallway. There was a wall immediately to his right so he went left – and stopped. The ceiling and walls of the hall were coated in the squishy pods. Almost none of the original wall showed through, and in spots the eggs were mounded atop each other.

"Crap." He looked over at Abe through the goggles. "Liz may have to come in for a bit."

"Or we could go for that tactical strike I offered…"

"Or that. Either way we should call for–"

One of the doors at the end of the hall cracked open and a face, a _human_ face, peered through briefly. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but Hellboy had seen it. He yelled, "Hey!" and bolted towards it. These doors had knobs and didn't look like they swung both ways so he skidded to a halt before them. He tried the handles but of course whoever was on the other side had locked them.

No lock had ever stopped Hellboy before. He reared back that giant stone hand of his and gave the door one powerful punch. It bent in around his fist, twisted partially from the frame, but still remained upright. HB cursed and tried again. This time it ripped from its hinges and flew into the space beyond.

It wasn't a room on the other side. Instead, it was one of the three hangars of the old base, the one closest to the gate judging by the view from the few windows along its wall. These same windows allowed in enough light to see by so he tore off the goggles. He blinked and took in the real sight of his surroundings. The hangar was long and tall with a curved roof. The interior was full of various cross-bars and girders supporting that giant roof. Various old boxes, crates, and barrels littered the concrete floor, and to one side was actually a stripped down plane fuselage. Dust and dirt covered everything here as much as anywhere else in the compound.

Hellboy could hear footsteps echoing from somewhere down the hangar; a stack of boxes hid the culprit from his view. He didn't need to see it, though – he knew it was that man he had seen for that split second. That _old_ man. And even from the sounds of his foot-falls he could tell the stranger wasn't going all that fast. No geezer was going to outrun him. HB charged after and Abe followed, though now with a little more distance between them; he knew not to stay too close to Hellboy if it came to a fight, plus it just allowed for better cover-fire.

It was nothing to catch up to the old man. HB could run faster than most people even on a slow day and today definitely wasn't a slow day. He dashed around the stack between him and his target, saw him hobbling towards the huge door, which thankfully was closed right now, at the end of the hangar, and pushed himself even faster. As he neared the man, dressed in a soiled lab coat and sporting a pair of broken glasses, he slowed and reached out to grab his arm.

The geezer stopped and spun, drove a withered old fist into Hellboy's chest. The blow was surprisingly strong and the impact sent him flying backwards. He soared a good two or three meters through the air, hit the floor, and rolled into some barrels – which of course fell on top of him. Fortunately they were fairly light and just bounced off, hardly even hurting. His chest certainly hurt, though. He reached a hand up to rub the spot where he had been hit. How could such an old withered corpse like that punch so hard?

Abe caught up and passed him, sparing only a quick glance before he rushed towards the old man. HB tried to sit up, to warn him off, but the ache in his chest was still lingering. He winced and fell back to the floor while his partner closed in.

"Stop!" Abe shouted, holding his gun directly at the geezer's back. "Don't move or I shoot!"

The man reached the closed hangar door and had to stop anyways. He banged both fists on the metal in a futile attempt to break through, though he did create two slight craters in its surface. Even with whatever superhuman strength he did possess it didn't seem enough for him to smash through the door. He turned slowly to face Abe.

The amphibious man held his ground. "Stop right there. Last warning." He tightened the grip on his gun.

The geezer was either insane or just stupid, or perhaps a little of both. He glared at his would-be captor and started to slowly advance. Abe didn't hesitate, fired a single round into his shoulder. The man's body shifted with the hit and blood sprayed from the exit wound but otherwise he seemed unaffected. Abe shot again, this time in the gut, and still no response. He started to back away and emptied his entire clip, yet still the man kept walking.

Blood pouring from seven different bullet holes, the man started to laugh. He stopped a few feet from Abe and began to inspect the wounds, laughing all the while. His grinning face turned to stare directly at his opponent. "Forty-nine of your human years," he croaked. "Forty-nine years have I lived in this decaying shell on this pathetic rock." His stomach convulsed and he made to vomit, but instead spit out a glob of blood. "You think your projectile weapons will stop me now?"

Abe frowned, or as closely as he could with his facial musculature, and reached for another clip of ammo. He kept his eyes on the old man – or whatever it was now – and kept up his slow retreat. The possessed man grinned at him again, blood and spit and bile covering his lips and mouth, and continued to advance towards him again.

His focus was misplaced, though. Abe Sapien was only half of the threat to him, if he could even be called _half_. Hellboy had gone unnoticed – something that normally _never_ occurred anywhere – and had managed to sneak around and to the side of the man. He carried one of the steel barrels with him and brought it down on the back of his head and neck. The geezer crumpled forward to the ground, Abe barely getting out of his way in time.

Hellboy dropped the barrel and stepped over him, looked down. He wasn't moving at all, not even breathing. "I'd say he's down for the count."

"Red, you've been at this for, what, fifty-five years now?" Abe asked. "How many things that you have beaten in that time have actually stayed down?"

HB actually seemed to count in his head. "Well, there was that Satyr thing in '83, and the…"

He trailed off, noticing the skin of the fallen old man had started to shift and bubble. Something or some_things_ were moving under the flesh, like cockroaches under a carpet. Hellboy leaned in for a closer inspection, then backed up as the body started to expand. The geezer's skin was swelling rapidly all over, his torso expanding the most. There was definitely something still alive in there… and it wanted out.

"Ah crap," HB muttered.

Human flesh can only stretch so far. And, as Hellboy and Abe watched, they saw it couldn't stretch all that much. The old man's body had turned into something resembling a sick human-shaped balloon – or, as Hellboy thought of, the Stay Puft Marshmallow man minus the cap – and was now starting to rupture. The two BPRD agents stepped back, not wanting to get caught in the inevitable mess. They heard the tearing sound and knew it was going to be soon, so they dashed for cover.

It was a wet and sickening sound, like paper tearing underwater if it were possible. There was also what sounded like a splash of thick fluids followed by several plops. Behind their stack of crates Hellboy and Abe cringed – they had witnessed things almost as bad or worse in their career but it was never possible to get fully used to something like that. They waited until the random plops had stopped then glanced over the top of the boxes.

There, lying in a pile of gore surrounded by a puddle of multicoloured fluids, was a small quadruped form. It was roughly the size of a kitten – and growing. It looked a lot like the other aliens they had wasted in the lab but more muscular and, somehow, more dangerous. Especially considering the rate it was growing at; a half a foot from head to bottom at first, now almost three, and still increasing. It writhed and twisted in the mess on the floor, letting out squeals that started high-pitched and were gradually becoming deeper.

"And I thought I had a fast childhood…" Hellboy muttered as he stood from behind the boxes. He drew his revolver.

Abe stood over the crates and held his own pistol out for cover. "Don't get too close," he warned.

"Don't worry." HB aimed his gun down at the twitching creature. By now it was almost the size of him and its shape had changed from the Greyhound-like form of the smaller aliens to one resembling a mutated gorilla. He narrowed his eyes in disgust and squeezed his trigger finger a little tighter. "Shoulda stayed off _our_ rock, buddy."

The creature suddenly stopped writhing and used the claws – it had sprouted four rather long claws from each of its limbs – on its legs to push itself forward. The gore covering the floor allowed it to slide easily, and it skidded away from Hellboy's shot. His bullet slammed into the floor, blasted a small crater in the concrete.

"Why you little…"

Now standing on its hind legs, the alien started running again for the closed hangar door. Hellboy gave chase, shooting and dodging the slippery mess as he ran. Abe fired from behind his cover. The creature was sidestepping and evading their shots, though HB thought he saw a couple of his partner's hit home; the bullets didn't even make the thing flinch.

It reached the door and body slammed into it. The two dents that the old man – or this creature while using his body – had managed to put in the metal were hidden in the impression left by the alien. It didn't break through, but it wasn't about to give up either. The monstrosity stepped back and was about to try again when Hellboy caught up to it. He holstered his gun, planted both of his hands on its shoulders and threw it to the side, right into a pile of empty wooden boxes. They burst under the impact. Shards of wood exploded outwards and a cloud of dust rose.

Of course the creature wasn't down. _Probably not even hurt,_ HB mused. He strode towards the shattered crates and the alien. It rolled onto its arms and legs, stood on all four, and turned to face him. A squeal mixed with a hiss escaped from it. Hellboy bared his teeth and growled a return challenge. The alien barked a roar and grabbed a box, raised it high. He lifted his stone hand to block just as the crate came down. HB ducked his head and the box exploded down upon him but he managed to stay standing. The thing stopped and stared at him.

"Gonna have to do better than that," snarled Hellboy. He stepped forward quickly and planted a left jab into the aliens face. One more and then an uppercut from the right into its lower jaw. The creature grunted, flew back from the blow and hit a metal girder a couple of meters up the curved wall.

HB took advantage of the moment and brushed some of the dust off of his coat. He could see the creature already pushing itself up from the hit. With a sigh he started towards it again. "Why–" He slammed his stone fist down on its head. "–don't you–" A direct punch to the face. "–stay–" A back-hand with his right arm. "–down!" He reared back for one last punch, but the thing shot out a clawed hand and caught the giant fist mid-way.

The creature had stopped growing, though it was now nearly twice as big as Hellboy. So it was no surprise to find that it could lift him like nothing. Well, at least it shouldn't have been a surprise, but HB still had a brief moment of shock as the alien flipped him over with one hand and slammed him into the concrete. He grunted in pain and tried to roll away. Four claws dug into his shoulder, tore through his clothes, and with a yell he was pulled upright. Upright, but his feet dangled below him, almost a meter from the floor.

"Oh crap," he said, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

A roar blared out from the creature's mouth right in his face and he cringed from both the sound and smell. Hellboy reached for his revolver; he was held by both shoulders but could still partially move his arms. _Partially_ move. It hurt like hell to move his arm and he could only use from his elbow down. He finally grabbed the gun, drew it, and squeezed the trigger several times. It only clicked.

Empty.

The alien's mantis-like head glanced down; saw what he was trying to do. It growled again and then head-butted him. The one good thing Hellboy could think of about his horn stumps was that they gave his forehead a bit of extra protection. So when the alien's head smashed into them it squealed, dropped him, and stepped back, shaking its head. The blow dazed HB, too, and he had to clear his eyes. It didn't hurt him as bad, though, and he recovered more quickly.

He advanced once more. "Damn alien," he spat. "Just die already!"

Hellboy was about to strike again when the thing suddenly leaped and tackled him; his revolver went flying out of sight. They both hit the floor and rolled in a mass of claws and flying fists. He got in a few good hits, but the alien got its own share on him; the slashes covering his body now would hurt like a bitch in the morning. Their grapple brought them to a roof-support pillar and Hellboy managed to use it for some cover and get away. He jumped to his feet just as his opponent scrambled to all fours.

HB wiped some blood from the side of his mouth. "Come on, finish it," he taunted, waving the thing on with his hands. "Come get some more."

The alien crouched low, as if to pounce. Hellboy set his hooves apart and bent, tried to get a good footing. He had his back almost to the curved wall of the hangar, so even if he did fall back he'd be able to remain upright. His opponent did actually pounce, a graceful leap that brought it to tackle him backwards. His attempt at getting a good balance failed miserable and he was taken with the beast.

And his idea for using the wall as a last-ditch support failed even worse.

Liz Sherman kept one eye on the old military base but couldn't help the occasional glance at the U.S. Army soldiers at ready positions all around her. Not just because of what they were – she'd been around soldiers and weapons before and had grown used to it all. It was that several of the men kept staring at her, ignoring their duties just to gawk.

_Men._

She crossed her arms and returned the stare to a few of them, who turned away instantly. A slight smile crept onto her mouth, so she again faced the abandoned base to hide it from them. Of course she was flattered, and even more so enjoyed the sort of power she had over them, but this certainly wasn't the time or place.

Liz stood at the front of the barricade, just inside the perimeter fence. The temporary constructs erected to give the soldiers cover were arranged around her and she made sure not to stand in front of any of their weapons; she didn't want her ass ripped to shreds by some trigger-happy troop. Although it was sure getting ogled to shreds, and she didn't even need to see to know.

She was almost regretting not going in with Hellboy and Abe. Out here it was boring. She could have stayed back at HQ and had more fun. Or she could have gone inside, but the prospect of finding and fighting an alien didn't sit well with her. In her time with the BPRD she'd seen and killed dozens, if not hundreds, of weird things, but this was one of the few times she had been on a case about _aliens_. For some reason the idea of a creature from another planet disturbed her most.

Plus there was that nagging protective attitude HB always gave her. Well, not always. But more often than not he was trying to get her to stay back while he went in, or just not go on the mission period. She was grateful that he cared, though a lot of the time it was just annoying. She _was_ an agent, she _could_ fight. Hell, she was probably the only agent at the Bureau other than Hellboy that was more capable of defending herself. She had even learned to control her powers; perhaps not as well as she would have liked, but certainly a lot better than she had been able to. So why did Hellboy always want to hold her back?

_Because he cares._

Once she had thought it was an intimate thing. Now, after being with him for so long and having no move on his part, Liz realized that HB cared for her like a big brother. Abe had even mentioned to her once something Hellboy had said, about them all being one family at the Bureau. She couldn't remember the details Abe had given, only that Hellboy was trying to look out for her like a sibling, not a lover. She smiled at this, a warm expression to replace the scowl she had subconsciously adorned.

Then another thought struck her. _Big brother or whatever, HB would kick the crap out of these guys if he saw them staring._ She actually laughed at that, and she could see a couple of the soldiers frown.

General Williams stepped up beside her. "Miss Sherman," he acknowledged, then cleared his throat. "It's been almost an hour. Are you certain your… associates… can handle this by themselves?"

"You heard Hellboy, General," she said. "We're the only people on the planet really qualified for something like this."

A polite smile flashed on the general's face, though it was cold and only stayed for a moment. "With all due respect, the U.S. military is more than capable of dealing with this threat. We only opted for a more concealed effort first so as to prevent public attention about this incident."

"That's what I mean. You could bomb the shit out of anything, but we prefer to beat it out." She grinned. "It's what we're best at. Especially Red."

As if on cue a loud crash came from inside the compound. Liz watched as through the wall of the nearest hangar Hellboy and some giant creature burst right through the metal siding. The beast landed on HB and the two rolled through the dust. Abe Sapien dashed out of the opening after them, unloading his pistol into the back of the thing. The soldiers around her suddenly came to attention and had their rifles ready, waiting for the command to open fire.

"Speak of the devil…" said Liz. She turned to face the general again. "Hold back, General. Let's see if we can do what we say we can."

Liz swallowed and started into the compound. She really didn't want to do this, to get anywhere near that thing grappling with Hellboy. But Red already looked terrible from whatever fight had occurred inside the base, and she knew Abe wouldn't be able to do anything more without some heavier weapons. It was up to her unless the military came in and blasted them all apart. She wouldn't have minded that except that two of her friends were in there.

She closed her eyes and let the beast within herself out. Breaking the leash wasn't too hard right now, what with HB getting his ass kicked in front of her. She cared for him, too, in that sister-brother or whatever relationship they had, and she hated to see him in such a state. He was tough, but not invincible. Liz let the fire consume her, let it spread around her entire body. She expanded it out, and the old chain-link fence around the base erupted into flames that reached high, that would hopefully prevent the alien from escaping.

The soldiers flinched and moved away from the fence on either side of the barricade as fire suddenly burst out of the metal; the general yelled orders for them to hold but readjust positions. Liz ignored all this behind her and focused instead on Hellboy, Abe, the creature they fought, and the fire from within.

_I'm coming Red…_

Hellboy's back was broad, so the impact with the wall of the hangar was spread evenly. That lessened the considerable pain, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. The metal wall tore around him with a screech and a crash as he and the big alien flew through it. He landed on his back in the dirt outside and, still grappling with his opponent, rolled several times. Scratches and punches were exchanged once again as the two struggled, Abe offering a few well-placed shots into the thing's back; a few of them came awfully close to hitting HB, but none actually did. Eventually Hellboy, laying on the ground and facing upwards, managed to get his legs under the giant alien and kick it. The creature was big, but his powerful legs could at least get it off from on top of him.

Hellboy rolled away and stood, ready for the fight to continue. Blood poured from several deep gashes all over his body, but he had no serious injuries. He would definitely be sore for a day or two, although right now he didn't care about that. Something – not the alien – had caught his attention: the fence surrounding the base was catching fire, the flames spreading out from…

_Liz._

He turned his gaze towards the gate and saw her moving in, her eyes consumed by, and her body sheathed in, blue fire. She walked slowly, confidently, towards the alien, which had also noticed her and the burning fence and was twisting its head to assess the new threat.

_It's distracted, go for it!_

Hellboy started to charge but stopped when the creature burst into flames. It squawked loudly and fell writhing to the ground, its limbs flailing. The fire covered its body, but even around the thing on the ground a swirl was beginning to form; Liz was manipulating her powers to create a sort of fire-tornado. This maelstrom surrounded the shuddering alien and a sizable patch of dirt around it. The heat from it was intense, and although Hellboy was fully aware the fire couldn't hurt him, he didn't enjoy the whipping air currents and the dust they were kicking up. He dove for cover behind a large boulder jutting out of the desert, Abe close behind him.

"She's certainly been practicing," Abe yelled over the roaring fire, the soaring winds, and the alien's shrieks.

"No shit," HB shouted back. He glanced over the rock at their opponent and saw it was trying to stand. Its skin was scorched and peeling all over, but it seemed to be burning slowly given the inferno around it.

"Did you know she could do that?" asked Abe.

"Do what?"

"_That!_ Control it so well?"

Now the alien was standing and moving, albeit slowly, towards Liz, who had come to within maybe 20 feet of it. It was also growing again.

"Nope," HB said absently. "Guess she's been practicing…"

"I just said that–"

Hellboy, who had only been half-paying attention to the chat, stood up and dashed around the rock. He covered his face from the flying grit and spinning flames with his right hand and ran straight into the firestorm. The fire burned away most of his clothes and gear, but his skin held intact. He charged straight towards the alien and made to leap on its back. The rushing winds from Liz's attack slowed him but he had enough steam going to jump up to the thing's shoulders and grab a hold.

It was like leaping onto an elephant now. A very large elephant. In fact, Hellboy imagined it was closer to jumping on to a _whale's_ back. The alien was massive, significantly larger than Hellboy. But being a tenth the size of something had never stopped him from at least _trying_ to bring it down. He climbed over its rough skin – which was in a mixed state of melting, bubbling, and healing rapidly, to get up to its head. Hellboy was almost there when the head, wreathed in a halo of fire, turned towards him. Those large, round, unearthly eyes stared straight at him, and he knew in an instant that he had drawn its attention away from Liz. That was good – exactly what he wanted. But with the attention came the wrath.

One of the alien's massive arms – the one connected to the shoulder Hellboy wasn't standing on – swung its claw up at him. It smacked him down hard onto the ever-changing mess of the thing's flesh. It was hot and sticky, and it seared even HB's durable hide. He cried out in pain and fury, trying to push up off the burning flesh, but the claw held him face-down in the living muck. Hellboy could dimly see through the flames and blowing dirt in the air around him that the ground was starting to flip. He had a sudden feeling of vertigo, and watched as the sky and land changed places...

The hold of the creature's claw was released, and for a moment HB was free. But that moment was brief: the alien had purposely thrown itself backwards so as to crush him beneath it's bulk. Hellboy was slammed into the dirt, and the thing did indeed put all its weight on him. Everything went black for him, and, for a fleeting few seconds, Hellboy actually thought he was dead.

Then the pressure was relieved, and light flooded his vision as pain poured through his body. He was caught on his back in a Hellboy-shaped rut in the ground, unable to move. He knew he wasn't paralyzed, however, considering the horrible suffering he was in; it was that pain that froze his body. HB managed to twist his neck a little to see the alien pulling itself up into its hunched, gorilla-like posture. It was still ablaze from Liz's fire, but now it seemed completely unaffected by the inferno. Its attention was entirely focused on Hellboy, and it made that abundantly clear by moving towards him once again...

Abe, perturbed but not really offended by Hellboy's abrupt and rude departure, watched as his friend ran at the flaming alien. Sometimes Abe wanted to be able to stop him and attempt to put a little reason in his head, but experience had taught him to trust in HB's brash tactics because, as crude as they often were, they _worked_. So he simply stayed behind the cover of his rock and watched... up until Hellboy disappeared under the thing's backwards dive. HB was down, at least for the moment, and it appeared that Liz's valiant attempt was no longer working. That left but one agent... him.

Abe was a very worthy combatant in hand-to-hand fighting and skilled with various firearms. But the creature was far too large for him and he only had his small pistol and a knife on him; they hadn't really been expecting something quite so fearsome in the old airbase, so heavier weaponry had been left behind. The soldiers at the gate had some, though. At least, Abe _hoped_ they did; he hadn't actually seen any of the men with the big guns, but there must have been some in their transports. If nothing else, surely they had some frag grenades.

With a backwards glance at Hellboy laying on the ground, Abe sprinted across the desert soil towards the gate. The dry air was even drier with Liz's surrounding inferno, but his aqua-suit was still working fine. He was fast in water and faster than most on land, and made it to the gate in less than half a minute. The soldiers watched him approach wearily, and the general even stepped forward to address him. "Grenades!" Abe shouted as he ran towards them. Without a word to him, the general spat an order at one of his soldiers, who produced a belt of the wondrously destructive canisters.

"What the hell is that thing?" the soldier with the grenade belt asked as Abe stopped in front of him.

"We're not sure," Abe replied, tightening the belt over top of his standard-issue BPRD field gear.

The man blinked, then clarified, "I mean, _who_ the hell is that... _guy_?"

Abe realized he meant Hellboy, not the alien, and his gaze was drawn back to the brawl over by the old hangar. HB had managed to pull himself up, and was now dodging a series of swipes from the giant creature. Abe watched his friend avoid one heavy blow, then grab onto the arm that had almost hit him and climb up to deliver a heavy punch to his opponent's grotesque face.

He turned back to face the soldier. "As I said, we're not sure." Abe smiled as best he could with his face. "Just be glad he's on _our_ side."

The explosives secured, Abe dashed back towards the fight. Liz, obviously realizing her efforts were in vain, had stopped the flames around the alien and along the melted remains of the compound's fence. She watched Abe approach and then pass her. She called after him, to which he replied with a brief "Busy!".

By now the alien had grabbed Hellboy in one of its massive claws, only his head and right arm free of the grasp. He was struggling, but the grip was too strong. The arm was raising him up to the thing's giant, sharp-toothed maw...

"Red!" Abe yelled. He pulled free two grenades, one in each hand, and hefted the one in his right. Before he tossed it, he realized Hellboy only had one of his own arms free, so he pulled the pin. The grenade flew true, and Hellboy caught it.

Apparently he hadn't noticed Abe pull the pin. "What the hell is–?"

_BOOM!_

The grenade exploded in his hand. Abe covered his eyes from the brief explosion, but when he looked back he saw that it had worked just as well: the alien's hand was shredded from the blast. Hellboy, meanwhile, was burned and cut, but had thankfully held intact. He fell, smoking, to the ground. The creature reared back and screeched in pain, holding its wounded hand up high. Abe took advantage of the moment and tossed his second grenade at one of its feet. That second explosion didn't do much physical damage, but it knocked the thing onto its back. Abe started to run forward and try to get a bomb down the alien's throat while it was down and screaming, but a hand shot out and grabbed his arm. A smoking, red hand.

"Goddamn you, Abe," Hellboy growled. He snatched the grenade from Abe's hand and another from his belt. "_I'll_ do it."

"Be my guest," said Abe. "And sorry for that."

"Yeah..."

The alien was starting to turn over onto its side. Hellboy ran at it. "Oh no you don't," he said, putting both grenades in his big right hand. He made it right up to the creature's face, and it had only a moment to recognize the expanded threat of this red humanoid.

"Open wide," Hellboy said.

The thing did just that, roaring out a challenge at him. HB pulled the pins with his left hand and gave his best curve-ball throw. It was awkward with that stone fist, but the target was close and large. The two explosives went right into the creature's mouth, and as they hit the back of its throat it stopped the roar and seemed to cough then swallow.

Hellboy stepped back. "Boom."

As if cued to his voice, the grenades did indeed go boom. They blasted through somewhere along the alien's esophagus, rupturing its chest. A wave of blueish-green gore flew out, coating everything in front of the fallen creature within a 20 foot range... including Hellboy. Not many things, either normal or paranormal, could have survived an injury so severe. It was dead. Just to be sure, Hellboy stepped through the puddles of gore to kick the alien's head.

"Another job well done," said Abe, coming to stand as close as he could to the giant corpse without stepping in the mess.

"Yep," muttered HB. Satisfied the thing was actually dead, he turned to face the gate. "Hate to be the guys that have to clean this."

"Yeah," Liz said, coming up towards them. She wrinkled her face at the goo and chunks covering Hellboy. "Sucks to be you."

Hellboy looked down at himself, for the first time seeming to notice the mess. He had been in such a state so many times that he hardly ever noticed anymore. He flicked and wiped some of the larger chunks off, but decided he'd need a shower. "Let's get outta here," he said.

The trio made their way back to the gate, ignoring the stares from the soldiers. Most of those gazes were focused on Hellboy, but many were glancing between the three. They were all used to it, though, and just kept walking. General Williams was staring just as much as the men under his command, but his was a look of business.

"Did you kill... it?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's down for the count," HB said.

"Thank God..." He nodded. "I can honestly say I'm glad that you – all three of you – were here. I... I don't know what would have happened otherwise."

"Hey, no problemo." Hellboy patted his wet hand on the general's shoulder. A sticky patch stuck to the uniform, which the man eyed with barely concealed disgust. "We'll send our bill in the mail."

General Williams thought, for a moment, that he was serious, then realized it was a joke. "Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat. "On behalf of the Roswell Air and Military Base, I salute your actions here today..."

"Oh no," Liz muttered, interrupting.

A trio of black Hummers, exactly like the ones Hellboy and company had arrived in earlier, were speeding towards the base along the same route. Five minutes earlier they would have been glad to see them. Now, however, the three BPRD agents had a feeling their work wasn't quite done for the day.

"Great," growled Hellboy. "Maybe they brought me a change of clothes."

The Hummers stopped just beside the pair already parked, and out of two of them appeared four suited BPRD agents; the third disgorged only three suits, and...

"Heya, Kate," Hellboy said, waving. It wasn't a huge surprise to see Kate Corrigan, the Bureau's assistant director of field operations, out here in person, but usually it meant there was something really important she needed to tell them – usually another job to do. Otherwise, she would have phoned.

She strode towards them from her vehicle, several of the BPRD agents – many of which had produced heavy assault rifles, shotguns, and a few weapons unrecognizable but all dangerous looking – close behind. The rest of the suits were staying back... staying back for cover fire. Hellboy, Abe, Liz, and the military men eyed them suspiciously.

"Hi, Hellboy," Kate said, her voice flat and emotionless, but crystal clear. "Good to see you're okay. But I'm afraid I... Well I don't know how else to say it, so I'm just going to say it." She looked up at him sheepishly before continuing.

"You're being detained, Hellboy."


	4. Chapter 3

chapter Three

A dead silence fell over everyone gathered, and even the desert around them seemed to stop and draw in its breath. Liz and Abe exchanged glances, as did all of the soldiers, every one of them as confused and shocked as the rest. One of the suited agents approached Hellboy with a pair of thick hand-cuffs, one ring significantly larger than the other.

"Just try it, boy scout," HB challenged, his voice icy.

The agent glanced at Kate, who flagged him back.

Hellboy watched him move away, then turned his glare towards Kate. His usual stony features hardened into a cold and terrifying mask. "Under what charges?" he asked flatly, clearly enunciating each word.

Kate Corrigan had known Hellboy for years, since their first meeting in '84 when she began a series of interviews meant for a book (which she never ended up actually publishing), and the two had become good friends. She was used to his expressions, his mannerisms, and managed now to keep her composure and hold his gaze. It was hard, even as his friend, but she just swallowed once and spoke. "There was a situation in Massachusetts last night," she said. "One of our compounds was attacked by... well, that we don't know, exactly. What we _do_ know..." She carried with her a folder marked TOP SECRET in red writing, and from it she pulled out a large black-and-white photo. "...is that this thing – _guy_ – had something to do with it. Maybe everything to do with it." She handed Hellboy the photo.

He took it and held it up, Abe and Liz leaning over each of his shoulders to get a view. The photo showed a grainy still, the time-stamp in the bottom corner giving away that it was from a security camera, of the profile of a large humanoid figure. The figure was essentially just a silhouette, with hardly any detail, and was in the middle of a grapple with two armed and armored BPRD agents. It was hard to tell if the mysterious humanoid was facing towards or away from the camera. There was enough detail, however, to distinguish...

Liz gasped quietly and stepped back. "HB... no..."

"It wasn't me," he said, his voice still flat. "That's his left hand, see?" He pointed with his own left hand at the mysterious figure's giant one, which was, at least in the photo, very similar to Hellboy's stone hand. "Wrong arm." He returned his stare to Kate and offered her the photo back. "Wrong guy."

"It seems there are appendages coming from his back," murmured Abe, still staring at the photo. "There, just below the shoulders. Wings, perhaps?"

"And the time doesn't fit," Liz offered. At Abe's observation she had moved closer to Hellboy again. "1:36 a.m. ... We were back at HQ watching..." She grimaced. "...part three of the Robocop trilogy."

"Look," Kate said, taking the photo. "We're not saying it _is_ you, Hellboy..."

"Good, 'cause it's not."

"...but we have to take precautions," she finished, ignoring his interruption. "If we have reason to believe you're involved, then we have to hold you until the investigation is complete. It's the same thing for any other agent if there's ever suspicion they're involved with an incident."

"She's right, Red," said Abe. "It's standard procedure."

"Yeah," Kate said, nodding. "Besides, it's not like you'll be put in a cell or anything. We have a special facility that's basically just like our headquarters now."

"Except with barred windows and padded walls," Hellboy muttered.

Kate opened her mouth as if to speak, but quickly closed it. Her gaze broke away from Hellboy's.

"Thought so," he said, an edge in his voice now.

"Yes, and no..." said Kate, her voice quieter now. She sighed, then looked at the general. "General Williams, is it? You and your men are no longer needed here... We'll clean up the mess. Thanks for your help, Agent Sanders here will debrief you." One of the BPRD suits stepped forward with his own dossier and led the general away from the conversation. An order was given, and the soldiers likewise moved away, back to their transport trucks.

"Years ago," Kate said when the non-Bureau soldiers were out of earshot, "just before the Cavendish Hall incident, Professor Bruttenholm had a special facility built just outside of Jersey City. It was designed specifically for you, Hellboy."

Hellboy continued to stare, waiting.

"It was officially a _precautionary_ measure, just in case... well just in case of a situation like this." Kate gently reached a hand up to HB's shoulder, ignoring the gore still coating it. "Professor Bruttenholm loved you as a son, HB, but you were still a mystery to him. To all of us. No one knew what might come of you, so we had to have something ready in case we needed to... to put you away for a while."

"Oh great, so it's a prison designed _specifically for me_," said Hellboy, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, that's _so_ much more comforting." He brushed Kate's hand away and started to walk off. The Bureau agents all tensed and shifted positions.

"Red," Liz started, "it's only for a little while... right?" She glanced at Kate.

"Yes, of course," said Kate. "As I said, only until the investigation is done. Or just until we get enough evidence to clear your name."

"Why can't _I_ investigate it?" Hellboy asked. "Wouldn't that prove my innocence?"

"Hellboy, you _know_ we couldn't allow that," said Kate. "It would be like letting a murderer out of prison to go try and find the 'real' killer on his own. What's to stop him from just running away?"

"Where would I go that you couldn't find me?"

"You've disappeared before," Kate pointed out. "For months at a time. Years, even, and most of the time the Bureau had no idea where you'd gone."

"Would he be allowed guests?" Abe asked suddenly, looking at Kate.

"Well, yes, of course. _Approved_ guests. Hellboy, it would be like living at headquarters, except you can't leave."

"And I'll be watched 24/7." It wasn't a question.

"Not really, only monitored – _occasionally_. You have to understand Professor Broom designed the facility for you... Not just on measures of security, but for comfort. His orders were for the place to be maintained exactly to your specifications–"

HB turned back to face her and frowned. " '_My_ specifications?' Then how come no one's talked to _me_ about it _before_?"

Kate smiled weakly. "Professor Broom's orders meant that your room at HQ would be replicated _exactly_ at the place in New Jersey."

"Exactly?"

"_Exactly_," Kate echoed with a nod. "And let me just say it hasn't been easy... An entire team was made for it and everything."

This shocked even Hellboy, and, realizing and ignoring the fact that his privacy was being invaded constantly at their headquarters in Conneticut without him knowing, he smirked. "'Bout damn time people paid more attention to me."

"You'll be catered for," Kate went on. "Whatever you want can be brought in. Except for anything deemed... Well you know, nothing you could use to break out."

"I want a pony."

"Okay... you'll get it. Does that mean you'll come quietly? She smiled at him.

Hellboy let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Yeah, I'll go. But only for a while... You know how ancy I get being cooped up for too long."

"Then you better hope the team being put on the case does their job well." Kate held the TOP SECRET folder out to Liz. "Agent Sherman, Agent Sapien, that'd be you two."

"Oh goody," Liz said, taking the folder and immediately passing it over to Abe, who opened it and began scanning the contents.

"You two kids better work fast," Hellboy said.

"Three," Abe corrected absently, still looking into the folder. He pulled free a piece of paper. " 'Agent Coleman John Harrison,' " he read aloud. " 'Team Leader.' " His, Liz's, and Hellboy's gazes all drifted to Kate.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Agent Harrison is already on the case, and will meet you out in Massachusetts."

"You're replacing me already?" Hellboy asked.

"Only on this case. We've deemed it Top Priority, and Agent Harrison was the most qualified man we had available. You all know it's essentially a formality." She paused, then added, "But he's new in the Bureau, so just go along with what he says."

"Oh, so two of our most experienced people get stuck taking orders from the new guy?" Hellboy said. He smiled. "Have fun. Me? I'll be enjoying my holiday."

"Get bent," muttered Liz.

"If it's all settled here, let's get a move on," said Kate. "Abe, Liz, you'll be en route to Boston. All the info is there in the case file, and Agent Harrison will brief you once you get to Area 12."

"Not even a break?" asked Liz.

"Unfortunately, no." Kate offered her a sympathetic look. " 'Top Priority' means it's at the top of our list... no time to waste. HB, you're with me in our other plane." She gestured to the parked Hummers. "Shall we?"

Hellboy muttered, "It better be _exactly_ like my room..."

* * *

"You know," Kate said, "I'm surprised you came along so easily."

She and Hellboy sat side by side on the back seat of one of the Bureau's Hummers, having just left the abandoned airbase. One of the vehicles had stayed behind with a handful of agents to clean up the mess while the others were driving escort. Abe and Liz were in the one ahead of them.

HB was using a towel to wipe some of the alien goo off of himself. There was one under him covering the seat that he had put there – he thought it was pretty considerate of himself given the situation. "What was I going to do?" he said. "Push you down and run? I wouldn't have gotten far in a _desert_."

"True, but I thought you would have had more verbal objections."

"I look at it this way: the Bureau's been working me too hard lately, so it's their way of forcing me to take a break." Kate rolled her eyes at this, but Hellboy just missed it before turning to look at her. "Do you really think the top dogs believe it's me that did it?"

"Obviously they believe that it might have been you. Trust me, Hellboy, they wouldn't go to this much effort to make you take a vacation. Besides, you know you can take a break from work whenever you want. You've done it before." She paused, then added, "Just be sure to clear it with someone first."

HB snorted. "Who, Manning? He wouldn't cut me any slack. To him, I'm your pet agent." He cringed. "Sorry, Kate. Not _your_ pet, I mean the Bureau's. Ever since you stepped up to Manning's assistant, it's been hard to think of you as a friend first."

"It's okay. Seems like a lot of people think of me differently these days," she said dryly.

There was an awkward pause, so Hellboy said, "So what does Manning think about all of this?"

"Oh, you'll love this," she said, grinning at him. "He's on holidays."

"No kidding..."

"Yeah. But of course everything gets forwarded to him, so he is in touch." She shrugged. "He didn't give much in the way of an opinion, but he did immediately order your detainment."

"You know, you might as well say 'imprisonment,' " Hellboy said. "Same shit, different pile."

"Okay, well, he ordered your _imprisonment_. Other than that, he seemed to think I was on the ball."

"Wait, so you're running the show now, but you had to check with him before sticking me in prison?"

Kate smiled wanly. "Personally, I _know_ you didn't do it, Hellboy. There's no apparent motive, and even if there was... I dunno, something else controlling you, the physical evidence – the photos, the first-hand descriptions from some of the guards – points to a different culprit. We have people that say..." She opened a folder, identical to the one she had given Liz and Abe earlier, and pulled out a paper to read from. "...they saw a 'big, hulking man with a stone fist.' But then we have others saying he 'had wings like a bat' and 'clawed feet, sorta like an eagle.' No mention of a tail, no mention of any horns – or signs of horns..." Closing the folder, she looked at him. "If it turns out to be you, I'll eat my hat."

"Then you better not be hungry, because you're right – it wasn't me." He hesitated, then asked, "So why would Manning want me locked up? Did you show him all the evidence?"

"Nope," said Kate, shaking her head. "Didn't get a chance. But does it really matter, HB? You and Tom aren't exactly the best of friends."

Hellboy grunted. "Hey, I tried. He's just got too big a rod up his ass–"

"He's your _boss_," interrupted Kate. "But I see what you're saying. He's not a very fun guy." She sighed. "Enough about him, lest I say something I regret." She glanced at the two agents riding up front.

"Pff, no one's gonna rat you out, Kate," said Hellboy. He raised his voice. "Ain't that right, compadres?"

"Yes, sir," the fairly young agent riding shotgun said without turning. "Nothing said about Agent Manning leaves this vehicle."

"Good."

"All the same..." Kate started, "can we drop the subject?"

"Yeah, sure. Manning hates me, I know. So essentially he's putting me away because...? What, he wants me to suffer through being completely cared for?"

Kate smiled. "I'm not sure he ever read the whole report on Project Tartarus."

Hellboy frowned. " 'Project Tartarus?' "

"Oh, sorry. That's the name of your..." She cringed. "...prison."

"Cute."

"Hey, I didn't come up with it."

He shrugged. "Whatever. So you mean to say Manning thinks I'm going to a cell?"

"Something like that. I don't think he's ever fully grasped the fact that Professor Broom actually cared for you."

"That's Tom Manning for you: heart of stone, personality of stone." He paused, then added, "Kinda has a face of stone, too..."

The driver of the car snickered.

"You're one to talk," chastised Kate.

"Ouch. I may have a hand of stone but my face is all flesh and bone. And damn handsome."

"Yes, well..." Kate cleared her throat. "So you're not in the least bit curious about who the guy is that attacked Area 12 last night?"

"Nope."

"Not even a _little_?"

"Okay, well I'd like to know where he gets off thinking he can frame me and get away with it, but otherwise I couldn't care less." He turned to look out the window.

Kate had a feeling he wasn't telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth. His voice suggested that deep down he did care, maybe even knew something about the mysterious culprit, but he wasn't going to give anything away. Hellboy was good at many things, and keeping secrets about matters close to him was one of them. She decided not to press the matter.

By now they had passed around Roswell proper and had arrived at the newer US airbase. They were cleared at the gate, then proceeded straight to the tarmac. The Hummer came alongside and stopped near a fairly small, sleek jet; it was obviously a new vehicle, and it looked _fast_. An agent standing outside opened the door for Hellboy and he stepped out.

"Wow," he said, "Our own private jet?"

"Nope," Kate said. She pointed to the left, drawing Hellboy's gaze to a big, bulky, old cargo plane. It looked like it would fall apart at any second, let alone fly.

"No..."

"Mh-hm." She shrugged and gave him an apologetic look. "We get the crappy one."

HB watched Abe and Liz board the nicer, newer jet. Liz waved at him, but Hellboy only glared back.

He suddenly didn't like this whole situation.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Winnipeg, Manitoba_

_December 25, 1944_

Snow fell lightly from the bland, gray sky, the fat flakes taking their precious time to touch down upon the buildings and streets below. It was cold, the blustery wind blowing sharp, chilled waves through gaps and alleys between the houses and shops. It was the perfect winter day to be inside, warm and cozy beside the fire, safe from the elements.

And inside was exactly where Dr. Kenneth Andrusko was, although warm and cozy he was not. He was hot and sweaty. His clothes were grimy and stuck to him, and his smell gave away the fact that he hadn't bathed or even changed in days. None of this he even noticed, though, as deeply focused in his work as he was.

He had spent the past four days straight down in his cool, dark basement, barely eating, not sleeping, trying to finish his project as soon as he could. Already it was late: he should have been done _yesterday_ at the latest, but delays – finding and securing parts, mostly – had slowed progress considerably. Now he was stuck struggling to finish before today was over. He glanced up sharply from his soldering at the clock on the wall; already 12:31 p.m.! There was but twelve hours – less! – until the day was over. It would be no good – terrible, in fact – if he did not finish today. Sarah would never forgive him for missing the anniversary of their first meeting. He would never forgive _himself_. He sighed in frustration and returned to his work.

Distantly, he was aware that today was Christmas Day, and that it was the first in his life that he had not celebrated. For the first 21 years it had been with his family – his parents and dear sister – and then he had married his first love (_Oh Sarah!_) and spent every Christmas thereafter with her. It had always been his favourite holiday; the mixture of surprise and gratitude from receiving and giving gifts, sprinkled with the festivities of the holidays and the mystery of Santa Claus, his elves, and his reindeer, made everything seem magical. Eventually Amanda, their daughter, had come along, and every year had been even more special; seeing the joy on her sweet face as she opened her presents each morning was more than enough of a gift for him. Sarah had given him Amanda, but he had never been able to give her anything in return.

Until now. Yes... He would finish today, complete her gift and deliver it on time.

Almost done, he was sure of it. There had been many hurdles in getting the project – The Gift – this far. Lack of parts and equipment had been the biggest issue; ultimately, he had gathered all the pieces he needed to build the final model, both legitimately and through significantly shadier means. Then there had been the various failed attempts at construction that had required months of re-planning and re-building to fix.

And there was the simple fact that he couldn't just ignore the rest of his life – his job and his daughter. When Sarah had left, he had been Amanda's sole care-giver. That had been fine until Ken had realized he could no longer provide the home she needed; he saw The Gift had become an obsession of his, and he didn't want the gift Sarah had given him to be affected by it. So he had sent her away to live with her Aunt Diana, Ken's own sister. Diana had taken her in and, as far as Ken knew, was treating her well. His sister had tried to get in touch with him since, but – other than to check on his daughter – he ignored her; he didn't need her nagging him about spending so much time on his 'ridiculous and absurd project.' She didn't understand... but she would very soon. His job at the hospital had been dealt with similarly; he had missed too many days of work, and even when he had shown up his focus was on The Gift and what work he still needed to do on it. His care of the patients had been poor, so he had resigned before he could have suffered the indignation of being fired. There was still enough money to keep going, although if this model didn't work then his funds would be drained to pay for replacement parts. That wouldn't happen, though, because this time it _would_ work.

Yes, he was just about done. Mere minutes now! Perhaps less. If he just bolted this plate down... yes... and soldered these wires to that panel... and plugged that cable into there...

With a disheartening _thunk_ followed quickly by an inspiring _whirr_ing, The Gift lurched on its workbench as power flooded its systems. Various lights and diodes lit up, and a series of reassuring sounds flooded the air. Kenneth sat back from the machine, watching and listening intently to find anything that might be wrong with it. He sat still for several minutes, barely breathing, his eyes and ears focused on nothing but his Gift – Sarah's Gift. His Gift _to_ Sarah. Satisfied it was functioning properly, he let out a long breath and managed a smile. Finally, after nearly three long years of toil, it was complete.

Sarah would be pleased.

He would be pleased to see her reaction.

He would be pleased to see her _period_. It had been too long... far too long. He missed her, and this Gift was the only way he would be able to see her. There was so much stuff left unfinished, so much he had to tell her...

Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. _Building_ The Gift was done, yes, but the truly challenging part was yet to come: he still had to deliver it to her. Or, rather, he had to deliver _her_ to _it_.

For that he had sought out special help. He was a medical doctor – a damn good one, as far as he was concerned – and his interest in technology was mostly just a hobby. He had always been skilled working with machinery, building and designing many devices since childhood, but he had found his true calling in medicine; his interest in the mechanical, however, had never diminished. Thus he was well rounded in the scientific and possessed, he often realized absurdly, the logic required to build The Gift. But there was a part of it he had had no knowledge of, a part of the process he had never even thought possible. Until, of course, he had met that man in the pub...

At first Ken had thought the mysterious old man was absolutely crazy, and even now he was sure the man wasn't fully fit in the head, but some of what he had said made sense. Or seemed to, anyways; Ken realized he was probably grasping at straws, desperate to find a way to see his precious wife again, but the old man was so sure of what they discussed that Ken would have had a hard time _not_ believing him. The first night had been merely an introduction; only a month after Sarah had left him, he had gone to McKinnon's Pub immediately after work and gotten drunk. He had met the old man, they had shared several drinks, and the discussion turned to his wife... and eventually how Ken might be able to get her back. The next day he had almost forgotten, but – barely able to function in his rampaging hangover – he had gone back to the pub... and there had been the old man, sitting hunched at the bar exactly as Ken had found him the night before. They sat and discussed further details, and the old man gave him a book. And a warning: he was delving into something "far more powerful and dangerous than anything the world of known science could prepare you for." Ken had listened to those words and had been momentarily deterred, but his desire to meet with Sarah again was strong. This new and profane knowledge, an old and weathered book, and heavy words of caution under his belt, Ken had left the pub and set to work immediately. He had never seen the old man again.

But his mysterious companion's descriptions of what he needed to do remained crystal clear in his mind – he could recall every detail, every individual word. He had even written it all down in a journal just to be safe, and that journal was close at hand on the workbench... but he wouldn't need it. No, Kenneth Andrusko would perform it all from memory. He wasn't sure if the ritual would actually work, but he was certain he would do it exactly as described to him; he had faith in himself, and was hoping his faith in the old man was well placed.

Only one way to find out: it was time for The Ritual. It seemed a fairly straightforward procedure, albeit a ridiculously far-fetched one. A part of Ken honestly thought it was a crock of shit, but most of him believed it; perhaps it was his desperation, perhaps the old man had merely convinced him with his absolute sureness, perhaps there were elements of the procedure that he couldn't distinguish that made it at least seem plausible. Whatever the case, he had come this far and he would go through with it. Turning back was not an option; years of planning and work, his job lost, his daughter gone... all would have been a waste if he stopped now.

Time to begin. Ken lifted The Gift so that it rested on the bottom of its cylindrical core; he had been working with it laying along its length as it made access to the innards easier. Up straight on the work table, the appendages – the arms and legs – hung limply from their joints attaching them to the core – the body. The crude face was now eye-level with him. The blue lenses covering the eye-pieces were cool and emotionless – it was a machine, _of course_ it lacked emotion. And yet its vague resemblance of a human demanded that it be viewed as more than just a machine... that it be treated as a living creature. Ken stopped for a moment and just stared into those eyes, struggling with the thought of this thing essentially becoming a living being; inorganic – artificial – but with the same thoughts, cognitions, beliefs... emotions... as something alive. As a human.

As Sarah.

Could he really turn this crude, potentially flawed machine into his dear beloved wife? It was a horrible looking creation – device. Would he still be able to love her if she inhabited it?

Of course he would. She was his wife – looks were unimportant. He loved her, would always love her, and would have her back any way he could. Besides, if it really did become an issue, he could improve her. As horrible as that sounded, it was true; with more work he could even someday recreate this shell into a life-like replication of Sarah. If not, so be it. He would live with and love this metallic visage if it held Sarah within.

Enough thinking, enough brooding. It was time for action. 1:03 p.m. now. But the time no longer mattered; there was still plenty of it left this Christmas Day – this day, exactly seven years since he had met and instantly fell in love with Sarah Marie Walker. What better day than that to bring her back to life? The anniversary of their wedding, perhaps, or Amanda's birthday, but those were months away. He had planned her re-birth for Christmas Day, and by God it would happen today.

The mechanical body – a bland cylinder cut from pieces of a metal barrel for the trunk; spindly combinations of hydraulic hoses, pumps, and rods for the arms and legs; and a jumble of wires, vacuum tubes, and custom-made circuitry crammed into an angular, skeletal frame for the head – was now only an empty shell: it was, essentially, a useless waste of space and energy. There was no control unit, no artificial intelligence to command the body. But the special crystal – the hardest piece of The Gift to secure, the one that had cost the most money and at least one life to get – as described by the old man, resting in a special cradle in the chest, would soon hold within it Sarah's soul. Her soul, caught from the grim reaches of the afterlife.

Ken was not an especially religious man, but he had been raised a Christian. He believed that there was a heaven and a hell, but had never thought much about it – he would worry about that when death took him. The old man had shattered that belief. He told Ken there was no heaven nor a hell: there was only an endless void where peoples' souls went after they died. The souls drifted aimlessly and unconsciously through this gray region for all eternity – unless something were to bring them back to the living world. The Ritual he described to Ken was just that something: assuming he performed it properly, Ken would release Sarah's soul – everything Sarah was in life, minus her old body – from that endless void and bring her back to the world she belonged to. He would only have to try it and see if the old man hadn't just been bull-shitting him.

The procedure was quite simple: from the tattered book the old man had given him, Ken would read aloud an incantation while drawing – with blood, his _own_ blood – a circular design on the floor (the old man hadn't specified the floor, but Ken wanted to make sure he had enough room). If he did it correctly, the picture he created would actually move of it's own accord and parts of the circle would align themselves into another design. He would continue reading another passage from the book – a part of which he would specify Sarah's name – and then the procedure would be finished.

Ken had practiced reading the incantation – in pieces; he never read the whole thing at once, lest he begin the ritual prematurely – and was confident he could say it properly. It was in a language he had never seen before, but the words – or phrases – were easy enough to pronounce. Every time he had practiced it, however, his heart hadn't been hammering. He was nervous now, his heart-rate quickened, a cold sweat broken out. After so long, he would finally perform The Ritual.

He took a deep breath, opened the old book on the workbench beside the empty, mechanical shell that would be Sarah, and began. The lines flowed out of his lips perfectly, read aloud exactly as they should have been. Dimly, Ken felt like _he_ wasn't speaking, but rather something else was speaking _through_ him. Some_one_ else, perhaps. But as soon as that thought entered his head, Ken pushed it aside – he had to focus. He was doing this of his own accord, not by the will of some mysterious force. He was in control.

Finished the first passage, his guttural words filling the air, Ken grabbed a small knife and pushed it deep into the thumb of his right thumb. He would have preferred to inflict the cut onto his left thumb, but thought he would have better control of the drawing with his right. Blood immediately escaped the wound, and, picking up the book with his left hand, bent to the floor. He ran his thumb slowly over the cool bricks, reading mostly from memory now, laying the blood in a circle roughly two-feet in diameter. When the outer ring was complete, he drew in it a smaller circle, and then in this smaller ring he made a star. Still speaking, occasionally glancing at the book, Ken made five specific and unique shapes between the inner and outer rings at each point of the star. Whereas the circles were obviously circles and the star was obviously a star, these five shapes were nothing Ken had ever seen before having looked in the old man's book. He had practiced them many times, however – had practiced the entire drawing many times, in fact, until he was positive he could do it all from memory. As he worked now, his attention between book and drawing, Ken was sure he was doing it right. The last part of the design was an eye in between two points of the star. The way Ken drew it, it seemed to stare directly at him, and he felt a brief moment of irrational fear; he felt as though the eye suddenly had come alive and was watching him.

Finished the drawing, Ken stood and continued reading. A few lines later, he stopped, and watched in fascination as the five shapes and the two outer rings did indeed move on their own. The blood lines just slid across the bricks of the floor, each of the five shapes coming to rest at a different point of the star. The eye, that dark and piercing eye, began to glow faintly, then it closed – Ken had not drawn a lid for it, and yet one appeared and covered it so that there was just a red, oval streak of blood. The rest of the drawing then began to glow, and Ken took this as the sign to continue speaking aloud from the book.

The next passage was fairly short. In it, designated by a blank line on the paper, Ken was supposed to mention Sarah's full birth-name. He had the sudden worry that just her name wouldn't be enough information – what if there had been _another_ Sarah Marie Walker that had died? But surely there was some other magic happening in this ritual that could tell exactly which Sarah he meant; there were many things he didn't fully understand about all of this, so it was very possible. Yes, that did make sense – the old man would have told him to be more specific otherwise. There didn't seem to be a place in the text to fit in any more details anyways.

As soon as he said her name aloud, carefully enunciating all of it, the pentagram and its rings on the floor flashed a vibrant orange. Tendrils of light started to rise up from the drawing, reaching towards the crystal cradled inside the robotic skeleton. It was working! Ken's pulse quickened even more, now because of excitement, not worry. He kept his pace of reading slow and steady though, not wanting to ruin The Ritual when he was _so_ close. So close to being with his sweet Sarah again! Minutes – no, seconds!

Ken uttered the last line. He held his breath, simply watching the almost organic-looking tendrils (_tentacles_) of light wrap around and encase the crystal, which had just started to give off a faint glow of its own. The light from the drawing on the floor faded, and the last of the beams it had given off slowly drifted up on- and into the crystal heart. When the last one disappeared, the rough-edged stone suddenly flashed, a flare so brief that Ken didn't have a chance to cover his eyes to protect them from the intense light. A white spot appeared directly in his vision, and he tried to blink it away. Curse his eyes! He rubbed at them, willing the – _hopefully_ only – temporary blindness away.

He heard a sudden cacophony of mini-hydraulic and pneumatic pumps in front of him, a bizarre _clink_, then was suddenly hit in the chest – hard – and was thrown sideways into a shelf. He struck his head on the frame, his body slammed into the shelves, and the array of parts and tools on them rained down upon him as he fell to the floor. The blow seemed to replace the large, white spot in his eyes with many smaller, black ones. He was aware of a sharp pain in his back, just below his ribcage, and he felt with one hand, found a screwdriver stabbed a good inch into his flesh. Acting without conscious thought, he yanked the tool out and tossed it aside. He then stood – shakily – and looked through his partially-clouded vision to see what had hit him.

There, standing directly above the pentagram on the floor, was The Gift. No, not The Gift anymore: there stood his wife. There stood Sarah. Her mechanical body was in a pose that was very much human, slightly crouched, feet spaced apart, her arms bent in front of her. The stance was almost aggressive, and Ken suddenly realized that being torn from death – and whatever horrors might lurk after life – like that would make anyone react instinctively, and Sarah had always been a fighter. Her robotic gaze darted around the room, finally settling on him.

"Sarah..." he said quietly, slowly moving closer to her. "Sarah, it's me, Ken."

He had installed a single microphone in the head-casing to be used as an ear. It seemed to be working, because she cocked her head to the side, the way a curious puppy would do, as soon as he spoke.

"Do you not recognize me?" Ken asked. He took another tentative step forward, but Sarah was moving backwards now. Why was she so afraid? Could her memories of him have been forgotten? Or did she just think it was some sort of trick, some false vision of her husband that Death would taunt her with? So many possibilities, none of which Ken could even begin to try and answer by himself. If she would only respond...

"You," she suddenly said, raising a metal hand to point at him. There was an amplifier from a radio in her chest cavity (it had been too big to fit into the head). The quality was poor, the voice coming through tinny and rough. But even undistorted, Ken could tell that that voice wasn't Sarah's.

He suddenly regretted having performed the ritual.

"You brought me here," the voice said. It was cold and raspy, seeming to suck the warmth out of the air with every word. Ken could not recognize it, and he had a terrible feeling that it wasn't even a human voice.

This wasn't his wife. It wasn't even _human_ – he couldn't explain how he knew that, he just did. He wanted to scream, to simply turn and run. But he couldn't – he had created this... _thing_, and he would have to stay and face it. He swallowed down the bubbling terror that was building in his stomach and replied with a "Yes."

The mechanical demon – for that's what Ken deemed it must be – stepped forward and bent its face towards him. The glowing blue eyes, once so emotionless and simply artificial, had become full of malice and hate. Of evil. They pierced into his own gaze – into his _soul_ – and Ken barely contained his scream. He merely whimpered and cowered, and at this the horrible thing drew back slightly.

And began to laugh.

It started quietly, indistinguishable as a laugh; it sounded like some sort of repetitive feedback. It quickly grew louder and clearer, turning into a dark mockery of a very human sound. Without any lungs, the mechanical body didn't shudder with the laughter, but when it reached its peak – an uncontrollable, braying guffaw – the demon clutched at its chest cavity and leaned backwards. Abruptly it finished, and Ken – cowering against the shelf he had been thrown into – flinched.

He flinched again, this time more severely, when the machine suddenly lunged at him. It stopped just in front of him, once again bringing its crude, emotionless – no, now _sinister_ – face close to his. It seemed to sniff, which was absurd; Ken hadn't included any olfactory senses. Nevertheless, a definite _sniff_ing sound emanated from the speaker in its chest cavity.

"Weeaaak..." the demon crooned, moving back slightly. It was crouched in a very animal pose, and the way it moved reminded Ken of chimpanzees he had once seen at the zoo. But the way it had laughed had been so eerily human...

"You are weak," it said, jabbing a finger (Ken had built each hand with three simple digits) into his arm. "Pathetic. But you can be of further use to me."

It raised its own arm and studied it. "Who am I to say _you_ are pathetic? Look at this spindly shell you have trapped me in." It slammed a fist down onto the floor – and the thin fore-arm snapped; Ken had made the body functional, but intended to make it more resilient once The Ritual had been completed. Those evil blue eyes bored into his own again, and it raised its now limp and useless arm in front of him. "Garbage. You will fix it – fix me. Make me better. Then..." Judging from his tone, Ken imagined the monster would be spreading a smile across its face if it could.

A dark, sinister smile.

"Then," the demon continued, "we have other business to attend to." It stood to its full height – an fairly unimpressive six feet – and stood over Ken. While it wasn't especially tall, it towered over Ken sitting on the floor. "You are mine now. You will do as I say."

He surprised himself by saying, "Or else what? What if I _don't_ do what you want?"

The thing stared at him for a few moments, then said, "Your wife. Sarah Marie Walker." He paused again. "She still awaits in _Alyschiae_ – in the void between life and her final destination, be it heaven or hell. Yes... the withered corpse that gave you my book only gave you half of the truth.

"If you disobey me..." The voice somehow grew even more menacing. "I will see to it that the gates of heaven are sealed for her, for your precious wife, and she shall spend eternity in the fires of hell. Her ultimate fate lies in your hands, Kenneth."

He did not know what to think. The old man had told him there was no heaven or hell – but now this monster claimed there was! Not only that, but it had control, or at the very least an influence, on who went where. A part of him – a strong part – told Ken that he should not help this creature no matter the conditions (_it lies!_), that he needed to destroy it. But there was that voice inside him that yelled – _screamed_ – for him to do whatever he could to ensure Sarah's place in paradise. If he could not bring her back to life, he would then do the next thing best thing and save her from an eternity of pain and suffering. The only way to do that, it seemed, was to relinquish himself as a slave to this hell-spawn, which would effectively decide his own damnation.

"Fine," he muttered, feeling sick. So many thoughts and emotions were washing over him, it was hard to focus. "I'll do it." He looked up and met the demon's gaze. "I'll help you."

"I knew you would."

"But you will let her into heaven if I do."

The possessed machine stared at him and laughed harshly. "I have no control over that realm. Be grateful I will spare her from hell. What happens to her after that... it is not mine to decide." It paused. "Have you changed your mind, Kenneth?"

He swallowed. He had tried, but that seemed to be the best he would get out of this demon. "No."

"Good. Now..." The robotic gaze shifted to its broken arm. "We have work to do. _You_ have work to do."

Ken wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and never come out. Not only had he wasted the past three years of his life, but he had given up his daughter, he would he never see Sarah again, and now he was the Devil's Advocate – or close enough. But he numbly moved over to the workbench and started reaching for tools. The mechanical abomination walked over and lay down without a word, giving Ken easy access to its snapped limb. He began unbolting it from the body.

"Do not worry, Kenneth," the thing said, its voice softer now, but still unsettling. "You are merely a servant – not a pawn. I will keep you from harm's way... mostly. You are the genius of my... _operation_." Its tone became almost awed. "Very soon we will have more join our party."

Then, whispered so quietly that Ken almost didn't hear, "And the _key_."


End file.
